Mount Ivory
by MoonrockBlink1772
Summary: Much to the GIW's disappointment, Danny's human half labels him as 'special' and prevents him from being given to them when he is exposed. But he still has to go somewhere, and ends up at the Mt. Ivory holding facility. Is his life over? You bet.
1. Karma

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, or any characters affiliated. I am not making any money off of this whatsoever.

Chapter One

I really must have done something terrible in a past life, because karma is really starting to bug me. Honestly, I would of thought that initial terrible shock in the ghost portal would have caught me up for every single misdeed I've ever committed, or the numerous sleepless nights spent catching ghosts and saving the lives of people who hate me, or the traumatizing experiences of both the entire world finding out my secret and meeting my really freaking evil future self. All of them combined would redeem Adolf-freaking-Hitler. But no.

You know, I somehow don't even believe in karma, anymore. After having my secret exposed - again, I might add - I was somehow snatched up by those idiots, the Guys in White. And what with the fact that I had no idea whatsoever what was going to happen to me next, please note that I was scared half to death. My life was over. I would live out the rest of it being cut open and examined like a rat, and never see my parents or my friends again.

I could actually equate this back to Vlad. If he hadn't set that bounty on me a few months ago, the GIW would of never had any kind of experience with a real ghost, and probably then, wouldn't have had the mind to gain the kind of skill they eventually had.

And knowing Vlad, he probably planned the whole thing.

I huddled in the back of the black van, watching the door warily. I had already tried phasing and blasting my way out, to no avail. How likely was it that I could fly out when they came in to get me? It sucked to have a conscious right then. Why did they have to be human?

The ride seemed to last forever. I could hear soft music playing from the driver's compartment up front, and a couple of words from the two agents seated there.

"- wish - Ivory."

"- know."

Nothing useful.

Finally light peeked in as the heavy black doors opened. I struggled against my cuffs and shackles automatically. Both of the Guys climbed in and picked up me up, and I yelled protests through my gag. The sunlight hurt my eyes.

They carried me for about five minutes (I didn't may much attention as to where) before I was thrown roughly into a chair and they left. A woman sat at a chair in front of me, and between us was a handsome mahogany table. She reached across and pulled off my gag.

"Let me go," I said immediately. "Really, I'm not evil. If you're looking for a test subject, I can direct you to another guy just like me -"

She ignored me. "Hello," she said. "I'm Jane Redd. And you?"

"Please - I'm really not going to hurt anyone - my family's going to be worried -" I babbled on frantically.

"What's your name?" she asked again. No more forcefully than before. She was talking as though there was nothing wrong. For her, there probably wasn't.

I finally listened. "Danny," I said.

"That's a nice name. Short for Daniel?"

I nodded.

"What's your middle name?"

"James. My name's Daniel James Fenton."

She smiled, and scribbled something on a clipboard she produced seemingly from nowhere.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"Mt. Ivory."

Though I already had a decent idea, I asked anyway. "What's that?"

"Where you'll be staying. I'll explain if you'll answer a few of my questions, sweetie."

Biting my lip, I replied, "Fine." I thought I'd cooperate so that maybe they'd let me use painkillers later on.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"What's your birthday?"

"June 13."

"Where are you from?"

"Amity Park, Illinois."

"What grade were you in?" The past tense bugged me. That, and the fact that she was asking me things I was sure she already knew.

"Ninth, at Casper High."

"What was your grade point average?"

"Er - 2.3."

She looked at me knowingly, then wrote it down.

"Blood type?"

"AB positive."

"Just a few more." Ms. Redd smiled at me. Again. "I know this probably annoys the heck out you, right?"

I glared, slightly. "Honestly, yes. Don't you already know this stuff? You're the government. You have access to all of my medical records and stuff."

"True, but we still have to ask. Now, do you have any allergies?"

"Not really."

"Fears?"That was not something I wanted to go into. Partly because it was mortifying, and partly because who knew how they were going to use it against me? "I'd rather not say," I said carefully.

She sighed, and put down her clipboard. "I know this is difficult for you Danny, and that I'm the enemy here, but cooperation is key to getting through this."

"What's there to get through? I'm going to be here for the rest of my life, aren't I?"

"Probably. But from what I've heard of you, you're a very resilient young man. Now, do you have any fears? I'm sure you do."

I stared down at the table. What else could I really do but tell her? "I guess I'm terrified of, well, becoming evil." Never mind the whole 'my secret gets out' bit. That's already been done.

Jane smiled sadly and wrote it down. "You're not the first person to say that. Now, look, I've written up some comments on your temperament. You can look at them, if you want. People act differently when they're angry and scared, so tell me if you're usually different."

She handed me the clipboard, and I scanned down to the bottom of the page. "Cooperative - slightly reserved," was all that was written.

"Yeah, that's fine." What else was I supposed to say? It was a ridiculous thing to be asked in the first place. 'How do you act when you're not about to be tortured?'

She pulled it back. "You can ask me any questions you want to, now. I'm sure you're dying to know a few things." She smiled briefly, then pulled a hand over her mouth. "I didn't just offend you, did I? That wasn't some kind of faux pas, was it?"

It took me a minute to realize just what she was talking about. Then I nearly died laughing - no pun intended. "No, lady, most common phrases do not offend me. Feel free to say 'you look like you've see a ghost,' 'pale as a ghost,' 'deathly white,' 'dying to know,' and any other ghost or death related saying."

Why was she being so nice? Who knew, who cared? It wasn't going to last long.

She looked relieved. "That's . . . good to know. Now, don't you have some questions?"

"Yeah. What the heck is Mt. Ivory?"

"It's a holding facility. For people kind of like you. Special people."

"A prison?"

"In essence, yes."

"And what's going to happen to me?" Why did I bother asking? The answer was likely going to involve pain. And a lot of it.

"You're going to live. Beyond just a few things, you're going to live relatively peacefully."

. . . Huh? Lies, all lies, I was sure . . .

"What?"

"Every now and then various people will want a blood sample, or to perform some exploratory surgery. That's the extent of the experimentation. I'm sure you were expecting more, but don't worry. Beyond that, you'll have free reign over a large part of the building, access to full medical and dental treatment, your own private apartment, and a huge selection of food."

"But I can't leave."

"But you can't leave."

"And what about my family, and my friends?"

"You have one fifteen-minute phone call every month. They'll all be censored, but it's better than nothing. They can write you back, as well."

This was truly mind-boggling. It seemed that I wasn't going to be tortured and cut open and all that. But . . .

"What's the point to all this? Why even take me in if you're going to just treat me like a houseguest?"

"You have to understand that we're not nearly as prejudiced as groups like the Guys in White. We're keeping you here for the safety of the people on the outside. The normal people." What a talented self-esteem builder this women was.

"But I -"

"- am not evil. I know, I know, I know. But it's possible that one day you will be. People go power mad. It happens."

I didn't respond at first. The image of me - future me - destroying Amity Park flitted across my mind. She was right. It was possible.

"What about Amity? I've been protecting them for so long now. The ghosts will invade, and I won't be there to stop them."

Jane gave me a long hard look. "Danny, I don't know what to tell you."

I swallowed. There really was nothing I could do at the moment, and I really didn't need or want to know anymore. "I guess that's all," I said quietly.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

"What?"

"I'm your therapist. You'll be coming in for daily sessions. Mark and Lewis will take you to your room, and one of them will give you a tour tomorrow."

"Yeah. Wait. What am I doing? I just sat here and . . ." I pulled at my handcuffs desperately, fear finally overtaking me. "This isn't fair. I never did anything."

"You existed."

"But I didn't _do _anything. I sacrificed nearly everything to save people like you, and . . ."

"You existed," she repeated. I stared. "It's not fair, but it's true. I've been a psychologist for quite awhile, Danny. You - you're new. You're unknown. So you're terrifying, and you're dangerous. And so you're here."

I calmed down, slightly, but I was still angry. Mark and Lewis came up behind me and I stood up. I let them lead me down a labyrinth of hallways before they shoved me through a door, took off my cuffs, and locked me in my new apartment.

All I could do was wonder if Ms. Redd was right.


	2. Property

_A/N: Note to people posting criticism of any sort: if you a.) post your review in all caps, or b.) can't spell 'anonymous,' I will not take you seriously. Thank you._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated, Butch Hartman does. Also, I am not making any money off of this at all.

Chapter Two

I wander around aimlessly. I had three rooms - a bathroom with one of those things that's both a bath and a shower, and a toilet and sink, a small living room type thing with a TV and loveseat, and a bedroom furnished with a twin bed, desk, and various writing supplies.

After realizing that there was no vent large enough to crawl out of, like in the movies, I just started walking around. It was good not to be chained up anymore, but my pathetic four hundred square feet provided not nearly as much freedom as I might've liked.

If I was being more optimistic at the time, I would've thought something like 'it's better than the tiny cell I was expecting.' But I wasn't, and I didn't.

Eventually I just flopped down onto my new bed, and fell asleep. Sleep was nice. I dreamed of Mom, Dad, Jazz, Tucker, and Sam. Mom and Dad were arguing over Santa while Sam was picking grapes from that plant of hers, 'Pierre.' Tucker was using his PDA to hack into Technus' latest suit, which, oddly enough, looked like a giant robotic Dash, which insisted on hitting on Jazz.

At six in the morning, according to my new clock, a blaring alarm went off through some sort of intercom, and I jerked awake, rolling out of my bed awkwardly.

I stood up, rubbing my head. "What was that?" I asked no one. My stomach growled, and I realized that I hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday.

I heard a knock coming from the door in the living room. I walked up and opened it.

A man I recognized as Mark was behind it. "I'm here to give you a tour," he said.

"Can I eat first?" I asked ruefully.

He looked at me. "Let me show you around first, and then you can eat."

I stepped out of the place, fully expecting to cuffed again. But nothing of the sort happened. I considered briefly knocking the guy out and looking for an exit, but thought against it.

"Follow me," he said. He pointed at my door. "Your room number is 827. Remember it."

I made a mental note to do just that, and followed him down the halls. "The cafeteria is the entire next floor," he told me, pointing at an elevator. "It's open 24/7."

We passed by several more numbered doors before coming to one clearly marked 'Recreation.' "The library and arcade are in there. It's open all the time, as well."

"Okay," I said skeptically. "This is starting to sound more like a fancy hotel than a prison."

"Exactly," Mark said. "There are fewer major complaints if you people are kept entertained."

I took offense to the 'you people,' bit, particularly since I wasn't fully sure who 'we people' were, yet. But I didn't say anything.

The next room was labeled 'Gym,' and it was just that. "Our fitness center," Mark said.

"How big is your budget?" I asked.

"Ridiculously large. That's all you need to know. We've been around awhile and the government needs us."

There were several shops, and Mark explained the currency of the land. "Ms. Redd and the other shrinks give out credits to everyone who behaves. They're not all that hard to get, unless you develop an attitude. The average income is one or two a day."

"An attitude," I repeated. Suddenly I felt the urge to _hurt _this guy. I felt incredibly guilty directly afterwards. It's just, this man, who was polite enough on the outside, had this underlying air of undeniable self-importance.

"Yeah. An attitude." He started to move on, and I just stood there. He turned around. "Coming?"

"Sure," I said. It was at that point that I realized something. I could easily go ghost and snap this guy in half. They'd probably capture me and, given that my current status was just above that of an animal, kill me.

I'd deserve it, too.

But all the same, I could.

And that was scary. In fact, it's impossible to say just how terrifying that thought really was.

The old saying, ignorance is bliss, truly applies here. Because I knew that I would be tempted, from that point on.

After a long and grueling tour of a generally featureless building, Mark finally dropped me back off in front of that elevator. "I'll see you later," he said, and pushed the up button.

I didn't reply, and just stepped on when the doors opened. Several other people were already inside. None of them blinked when I got on, and I didn't say anything. Why would I, and what would I?

The elevator stopped, and I followed them off. I caught a glimpse of the cafeteria.

There were _far _more people there than I ever would of suspected. They ranged in age from five to eighty-five, it seemed, though, strangely enough, the majority was of people just about my age.

The room itself was huge. Lining three of the walls were long buffet tables, and at least fifty cafeteria-style filled up the middle. I followed the people from the elevator and grabbed a plate. I served myself various breakfast foods (eggs, a pancake, some toast) and just sat down in a random place and started eating. It was my goal to get out of there and back into my room as fast as possible. Avoid human contact and think things through was my battle plan, incredibly stupid as it was. I tried not to think about what might be in the food.

I watched people. Some seemed to be withdrawn and reclusive, like me, while others acted like this was a school lunchroom - nothing odd or depressing going on at all. How long had these people been here? Why did no one on the outside know a thing about this place?

I finished eating and dumped my paper plate in a trashcan that was already filled to the brim with the things, and rode back down the elevator. Then I headed back to room 827, this time occasionally passing by people going about their business. Or lack there of.

I half expected to be stopped, and told that, no, this wasn't where I was supposed to be, and shuffled off to be tortured in some room somewhere. _My secret had been revealed. I had been captured. My life was over_. Why was I still walking around freely, barely gaining a passing glance from those around me? Why, if this had been my fate all along, had the Guys in White threatened me with questioning and 'lots and lots of really painful experiments'? And speaking of them, why had _they _gone after me in the first place? Didn't this place have their own collection squad?

Questions, questions. None of them seemed too likely to be answered at the moment.

I reached my apartment and flicked on the television. I managed to find Amity's local news station, where, joy of joys, they were launching a report on several recent ghost attacks and how I, recently exposed hero and former enigma, was not helping them at all. Big freaking surprise. Why did they think I'd be watching the news, anyway? Well, I was, but that's beside the point.

"Danny Fenton, we here at Amity Broadcasting, as well as the Amity Park _Angle_, would like to apologize sincerely for every part we've played in revealing your secret. Please, the ghost attacks are growing worse. Please come back and _help us_." I changed the channel to some lame cartoon, but didn't really pay attention. Snow wasn't apologizing when she was reporting the story of a lifetime, and ruining my life. Only when her life is in danger did she think about what all this would mean for me.

But I still felt guilty. I was locked here, and I couldn't do anything. There had been a few brief clips of my parents and Valerie fighting off Skulker, and I wondered if I'd ever see them again. If Ms. Redd wasn't lying, I would be able to talk to them, to explain, in a month.

I just kind of stared blankly at the television for awhile. Time had stopped coming in the short bursts I was used to - everything dragged. By the time I had even realized that I wasn't fully conscious, I heard another knock on my door.

I turned off the TV and answered it. It was Lewis, this time. "It's time for your session with Jane," he said simply.

Oh, right. Therapy. "Yeah, okay," I responded, and we went wordlessly down the hall to Jane's office.

"You can go in," he said, and opened the door. I walked in, and he stayed behind.

I took a seat in the same chair as I did yesterday. "Hi," I said.

"Good morning, Danny." She smiled. What else was new?

"So . . ." I scowled slightly.

"I know, you probably don't want to be here. Anymore than you want to be _here _in general. But it will all be over soon enough."

"Huh?" I said.

"The session. This session will be over soon enough," she corrected, understanding my confusion. "Now. How would you like to do this? I can ask you questions, and you answer, or you can just tell me whatever's on your mind."

"Um . . . I guess you can just ask me stuff." Something I'd learned after nine months of lying constantly: let other people do the talking and it's less likely your mouth will go running off from you. Not that that little tidbit had helped the day before, but nonetheless.

"All right, then. How has your first day gone, so far?"

"Nothing's happened. I ate, and I went back to my room." What else could she have possibly expected?

"Well, that might be good. I'd imagine you're pretty wound up right now."

"Yeah. Yeah I am. Wouldn't you be, if you'd just been ripped from . . . Well, everything?" I was angry, and nervous. Wound up . . . wound up was not the phrase I was looking for. "Besides, I'm pretty sure we covered the fact that I am not at all happy to be here yesterday."

"You're doing better than some others. You've been very cooperative, which is ultimately healthier than kicking and screaming and carrying on."

"Because there's no way to get out of here, right?"

"Right. We've got guards armed to the teeth with ecto-weapons, this whole building is ghost-proof, and a whole lot of other nonsense I didn't understand. I don't work in ecto-physiology or ecto-weaponry, so excuse my complete lack of knowledge. But basically, every possibility has been covered. We have a lot of different kinds of powers in this building. Everything in here, nearly, is fireproof, the walls were designed to absorb everything from psychic attacks to supersonic waves, and all of our men are fully protected against the same things."

"That's good to know," I told her. "Saves me a lot of trouble. I have a wide arsenal, if you know what I mean." _Shut up_, I told myself. _Just shut the heck up_.

"Why don't you tell me? What exactly can you do? I know you're half ghost, but beyond that, I don't know much."

"Hmm, now _that's _an interesting subject. I can fly and turn invisible and intangible and stuff, but that's pretty generic. Ecto-blasts and the ghost sense are pretty normal as well, for a ghost, so I guess my abnormal abilities are just my ghostly wail and the ice stuff."

"What are they?"

"The ghostly wail is . . . Why am I telling you?"

"So that later, when you're demonstrating these things to a team of scientists much more knowledgeable in the field of ecto-physiology, they'll already know you're a very cooperative person, and won't have to cut you open to find out whether or not you were lying about what you can do."

I blinked. That was a very good reason to be telling her. "The ghostly wail is just a supersonic blast, and I can basically create and control ice. They're not unique to me and only me, but I'm the only one of the two ghost hyb - I've said too much." That was incredibly stupid. At least I hadn't said 'three' and thrown in Danielle, but, dang, did I want to throw Vlad into this mess? . . . On second thought . . .

"Two ghost hybrids?" she guessed. "Do you want to tell me who the second one is?"

"I'd really rather not. I don't want him here." Yes, the only good thing about coming here was that Vlad was no where in sight.

"You two don't get along?"

"Think . . . Arch-nemesis. My Joker, or my Lex Luthor. He's evil as evil gets."

Almost as evil as evil gets, anyway.

"The other half of the building is where we hold the truly malevolent super beings that work there way in here," she said. I grinned despite myself.

"Vlad Masters. He's Vlad Masters, 1997 Billionaire of the Year, CEO of Vlad Co, and mayor of Amity Park. Also, and old college buddy of my parents."

Her jaw dropped. "Vlad Masters is half ghost?" she asked. "And he's evil?"

"Uh . . . Yeah. You don't have to take my word for it. Just read a few reports of the vicious misdeeds of The Wisconsin Ghost."

"He's The Wisconsin Ghost?"

"He's The Wisconsin Ghost."

"That's . . . interesting." She scribbled something down on that clipboard of hers, then looked up at me. "I'll make sure to get someone on this right away. Who else knows about him?"

"Only the people that know my secret - er, the people that used to be the only people that knew."

"Who are?"

"My sister, and my two best friends."

"Not your parents?" Jane looked surprised.

"Top ghost hunters in the world? I don't think so."

"Well, if they didn't know it was you, what was to stop them from hunting you like any other ghost?" She'd immediately dropped the subject of Vlad to go back to me. Swell.

"Nothing," I replied grimly. "I was fair game."

She kind of stared at me. "That must have been hard."

"Welcome to my world," I said. "My life hasn't been easy for about a year now. This is just the icing on the cake."

"Because you chose to play hero?"

"Exactly."

"Why didn't you quit?"

Her question surprised me. Quit? I couldn't quit. I had to do what I did. There wasn't any other option, was there?

"Why would I quit? Saving people wasn't just something I decided to do on a whim - I had to."

"Why?"

"Because I was the only one that could."

Jane looked thoughtful for a moment. "How'd you get like this?"

"Sam convinced me to go into my parents' ghost portal. I activated in from the inside by accident. Hence, me."

"Who's Sam?"

"One of my two best friends."

"Male or female?"

"She's a girl."

"Did she suggest that you start being Danny Phantom?"

"No."

"Did your other friend?"

"No."

"So you chose to by yourself."

"Yes."

"You're a very strong-willed person, Danny. Particularly for a teenager."

"Not how I would describe it." I was getting fed up with this. So what? I felt obligated to save people and fight ghosts. Of course I did; I have the powers to do it, and I'm not evil, so I kind of had to. It mean I have strong morals, at best. "Can I go?"

Ms. Redd looked at her watch. "You have a DNA test in about ten minutes. I'm supposed to keep you here until then."

"A DNA test?"

She bit her lip. "They do this to all the newcomers. They examine your DNA, and well, determine if you are physiologically human."

My stomach churned. Physiologically human. That was a category I was not so sure I fit in. "What happens if I'm not? Why does it matter?"

She looked down at the table, kind of fidgeting. "Danny, most people in here are just prisoners. Kept here by law against their will. But some clause in some law or another, well, specifies that any subject found to not be human becomes the property of the government. So if that test comes up positive . . . well . . ."

I'm pretty sure my throat closed up, at least partially. "P-property?"

"I'm sorry. I hope for your sake the test comes up negative."

I had this sinking feeling that it wouldn't. Was half-human enough to qualify? Well, it didn't stop them from taking me to Mt. Ivory, did it?

So I spent the next seven minutes with Ms. Redd, not talking.

Property.


	3. DNA

Diclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Three**

Well, the DNA test only took a few minutes. A couple of scientist-doctor people took a blood sample and swabbed the inside of my mouth, and told me to scurry along and that the results would be in within two days. Something about 'advanced analysis.'

During the whole thing I was sitting there, hoping beyond hope that that test would come up negative. I'm not sure why I was so worried: I was already there, right? What much more could being their property do to me?

I got back to my room, trying to ignore my sore arm. Too many needles. The clock blinked 9:01. Meaning I'd been awake for three hours. I shouldn't have been. Getting up at six o'clock is not natural. Especially when there seems to be no reason for it.

The more I think about it, the stranger this place gets.

Suddenly I felt the urge to just try and escape. _They must be waiting for me to do this. None of it's real._ _As soon as they get me back in they're just going to cut me open like they're supposed to be doing. _So I transformed, went intangible, and flew up towards the ceiling as fast as I could with such a small area to gather momentum.

_WHAM! _I hit the ceiling, head first, and fell back towards the floor, transforming on impact. "Owwowowow." I rubbed my head, confident now that there would be some kind of a knot there soon. My temper was drained, and I just felt stupid, now.

Speaking of my temper - why wasn't I yelling more? And why was I taking everything Ms. Redd said at face value? They'd explained away these things, in a way, with their reward systems and various other things. But you can't get that many people - especially that many people with a serious ability to _hurt_ - all in one building without some kind of an uprising. But nearly everyone at breakfast earlier that morning had seemed resigned.

For all I knew this place really was a fortress, and they'd all figured that out. I wasn't getting out any time soon, at any rate, without pretty much killing every employee here. Which wasn't going to happen.

And then that thing about the possibility of me becoming the government's property. Why had I just submitted to the test, without kicking and screaming and the like?

I knew why, actually. The thought hadn't occurred to me at the time. Which was equally strange.

The thought came up to just ignore it and accept this all, too. I pushed it away, it came back. I pushed it away again, and it just kept popping up. This was a battle that went on for awhile. Finally, I couldn't push it away anymore, and I just leaned against the wall.

_Maybe I ought to just stop resisting. I'm not getting out_, I thought.

Suddenly I felt better. The image of some faceless, generic . . . thing, reaching out to me sprang up in my field of vision. "Resistance is useless," it said, and I nodded, grabbing its hand.

Then I let go, as a sudden wave of awareness washed over me. Maybe I was ready to stop worrying a little. Especially since the idea of doing just that was so doggedly taunting me. But as for joining in on the ignorance fest that seemed to be this place - well, I wasn't going down without a fight.

- - -

Day two came and went, as did day three. Day three I had a medical examination, but beyond that I just went up to grab some breakfast, stayed in my room for a bit, went to go see Ms. Redd, and then went back to my room.

With Jane I just talked about how much I hated this place (which was less than I would've thought. I began to suspect they put drugs in the food, or something), and told the occasional story about the stress of being Danny Phantom.

Dang it. I hadn't thought about that in what seemed like forever. Though it had only been four days since I came here. That was my new definition of forever. Every day my just dragged by.

I finished eating on day four about thirty minutes later than usual, so I had to go straight to Ms. Redd's office.

"Come in," she sighed when I knocked on the door. I walked in.

"Hi," I said.

"Good morning, Danny."

I slid into my chair. "What do you want to know today?" I asked, slightly disdainfully. I far from enjoyed this. It was just becoming oddly routine.

"Yesterday you were talking about your school."

I sighed. "Yeah. Okay. Where was I?"

She flipped through several pages of notes. I hated that clipboard. "Mr. Lancer."

"Right. My English/math/world lit/chemistry/history teacher. And vice-principal. Who uses book names for curses and assigns an unholy amount of homework."

"Did you _have _any other teachers?" she asked.

"Mr. Folucca, who taught biology. I really have no idea why they even bothered to get another, seeing as Lancer taught everything else."

"Mm." She scribbled something down. "How did Mr. Lancer feel about you?" she asked. "You clearly don't like him."

I snorted. "He didn't like me, either. A 2.3 GPA doesn't get you anywhere with the teachers. That, and the fact that I was constantly skipping class . . ."

She raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have taken you for the type to play hooky."

"I didn't! I had to constantly go off and fight ghosts."

"I guess things make sense to him now, then."

"Yeah, I guess."

This kind of chatter went on for our allotted period of time. At the end, however, Jane looked up at me. "It's time for you to get your results from the lab," she said quietly.

I sighed, and nodded. "They're in, huh? I'm guessing you already know what they are."

She looked up, startled. "No, I don't. Don't . . . never mind. It's time for you to go."

I stood up. "Whatever." I tucked my hands into my pockets (I'd replaced my clothes with some I'd found in my dresser on the second day), and left. I heard Ms. Redd hyperventilate slightly as I shut the door.

The lab was two floors above the main one, and I so I hopped on the elevator as soon as I got to it. I jammed the button for floor four, when suddenly somebody behind me spoke.

"Lab date, eh? That must suck." I whirled around. There was _no way _I could have missed that guy coming in. He was standing dead center in the back.

"Where'd you come from?" I asked, as soon as I got control of my heart rate.

He half-smirked, half-grinned. "I get that a lot. Uncontrollable invisibility. The least dangerous power in all the land, and they still feel the need to package me up here. Toby, by the way."

Someone I could sympathize with, at least in terms of powers., although I actually could be labeled a threat to society. "I'm . . . er . . . Danny."

Why was the elevator so slow . . .?

"What's your power, anyway?" he said nonchalantly. How could anyone ask that so casually?

Then I remembered where I was.

"I'm, well, half-ghost," I said. Odd that some random stranger I met on an elevator would be the first person I would ever actually just come out and say that to.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's certainly interesting. No one else here like that . . ."

Finally, the elevator came to a halt and I got off. I noticed he was going to floor five.

_What's floor five for? _I wondered. Mark never mentioned floor five on his tour. Then I began to wonder why I cared.

I walked up to the receptionist type person. "Danny Fenton," I said. She typed something in with a bored expression on her face.

"ID?"

"99325718." It had taken me a while to memorize that. Luckily, however, I have nothing if not free time.

She typed something else in, and said, "Lab ninety-two." She paused, and looked at me. "Good luck."

"Yeah," I said, and walked on. No one seemed to have any faith whatsoever that I was, in fact, human. I glanced down at my hand.

Solid flesh and bone. Like, well, nearly always. I was not green, I was not made out of rock, and I was not overly prone to dripping slime.

Appearances, I would've thought, would matter something here. Apparently, not so much.

I knocked on the door of lab ninety-two. "Just come in," I heard my 'doctor' say.

I opened it up, and walked in. "You're three minutes late," Dr. Jared said gruffly. Though this was hardly a tragedy, given my record, I muttered a quick 'sorry.'

"You're here for your test results," he said, not once looking up from a stack of papers he was looking through.

"Yeah," I said nervously.

"Just sit down, then," he said, gesturing to dentist-style chair. I sat down without hesitation. This guy had a general aura of 'interrupt me and I'm putting arsenic in your medicine.'

Dr. Jared put down his papers, and flipped through several file folders before coming up with several more sheets of paper. "How's life been treating you?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Erm . . . fine, I guess." Not the truth, but hey . . .

"That's good," he mumbled. He was attempting to make some sort of conversation, which was commendable, given how engrossed he was in his reading and for the fact that he didn't seem the social type. "As found with the aid of information supplied by the Guys in White, you have an ecto-classification of R12, and a spectral power classification of 7.9."

I didn't ask what that meant, exactly. I was too busy waiting for him to answer the million dollar question.

"You also have blood type AB positive, and several dangerous diseases can be found in your blood."

I also didn't ask why the heck he was telling me all this.

"But beyond this extra information, the test came up positive. I'm sorry."

I watched my world crumble before my very eyes.


	4. Auction

_A/N: Because this confused a lot of people, when the test came up positive, he wasn't human._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated. I am not making any money off of this.

**Chapter Four**

It is not every day that you're told you're the non-human property of the government. It's also not every day that you pull yourself out of a mental collapse and go off to the main office of the facility where you are being held against your will for being a potential threat to society and find out that you have a monetary value, and that any properly secured scientific organization could purchase you for it, should they have the funds to do so.

I am worth exactly one million dollars. The average is five-hundred thousand (I for one didn't know there was an average).

In any other situation, that might be a serious self-esteem builder.

So my fourth day of captivity was rather abnormal. This is, of course, me, the half-ghost ex-super hero talking. For anyone else it might rank up there with 'suddenly being told you own the world' or 'finding out you are the sole heir to the Hitler bloodline' or something like that. Not for me. Ha.

Beyond the fact that it was strange, it was completely scarring, emotionally devastating, and altogether miserable. There is a very unique feeling that comes along with discovering that you are a.) not human, b.) the property of someone else, and c.) lucky enough to have no future to speak of.

And, to give that cake some icing, as the Head of Nonhuman Affairs put it, 'a fully transmittable commodity.' Basically anyone who can pay one mil for me gets me. I knew that whole scientific organization thing was just a lie. The HNA was a bad liar.

Trust me, I know a bad liar when I see one. I am one.

Anyway, here I am, two weeks later. Still half-dead.

I'd been watching the news. My parents conducted a speech on live TV asking me to come home, and that they didn't hate me and that no, I wasn't going to be dissected. Tucker was thoroughly depressed, he being the only one there when the GIW agents took me, and Sam and Jazz looked as though they'd been crying.

Despite the fact that it was good to see them again, I couldn't help but notice that the city was in shambles, some parts engulfed completely in green flames.

_Well there you go, Val_,_ Mom, Dad,_ I thought, half-sighing.

I wondered how guilty they felt.

Then I wondered how both I and the entirety of my hometown could possibly coexist when we're both this messed up.

Please note I hadn't opened my mouth in therapy once since I got the bad news. Ms. Redd just spent all of our time together watching me stare at her and taking various notes. Possibly on my even more messy hair, or the fact that I was refusing to shower or change my clothes.

Then, on day eighteen, she finally prompted me to talk.

"You can talk to your parents today," she said.

I gaped. "W-what?"

"Your fifteen minute phone call."

I blinked, having forgotten all about that. "Oh. When?"

She half-smiled, and gestured to the phone sitting on her desk, which was in the back of the room. "Now."

I immediately got up and ran over to the phone, picking up the receiver and punching in my home number at lightning speed. It rang twice, and then I heard the _click _that meant someone had picked up.

"Hello?" came my mother's voice. Her voice hitched; she'd been crying.

"Mom?" I said hesitantly. I wished I'd thought that through.

"Danny?!" she said. "Is that you."

I bit my lip, and traced lines on Jane's desk. "Er - yeah. It's me."

"Oh, Danny, where are you?"

"Er - well, I really don't know if I can tell you. But I'm relatively fine."

"Please come home," she said. "We don't hate you. We're not even mad."

"I-I can't," I said softly. "W-where I am, I'm, well, stuck. Unless you want to buy me."

There was a pause. "What?" she asked sharply.

"I'd rather not. Hey, can I talk to Dad?"

She paused again. "Oh, right. HONEY! IT'S DANNY!"

I heard Dad's thundering footsteps, and soon I heard him panting, "Danny? Is it really you?"

"It's me."

"Where are you?" he said.

"I can't say. But . . . I'm fine." It appeared I was going to have much the same conversation with my father as I did my mother. But I didn't care. It was possibly the happiest moment of my life. I was literally in tears.

"When're you coming home? Danny, we need you. Maddie, Jazz, and I don't care if you're Phantom or not - and neither does the town."

I sighed. "I know, I know." Jane was tapping her watch. "Look, I have to go. I'll talk to you again, well, eventually - bye."

"Bye," Dad said. "Bye."

I hung up, and wiped the tears from my eyes. I went to go sit back down in front of Jane. "Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome."

The rest of our session was silent. For the first time in a very long time, I felt relatively happy.

I just wished that I'd said more to them. I supposed I would get to talk to them again. I wasn't completely sure; but then, I wasn't completely sure of anything anymore.

- - -

Another several days dragged on. Then, on what might've been either day twenty-one or day twenty-two (I was beginning to lose track), Mark stopped me while I was entering my room. "Interested buyers, level six. Hurry up," was all he said before hurrying off to go tell the same thing to some freakish looking girl (she had blue hair and the strangest looking turquoise eyes. I immediately became thankful I was not outwardly strange) a couple rooms away.

I stood there for a few moments, my throat slowly closing up. Then Mark turned around and glared at me, and I hurried to the elevator.

Strange-girl and I weren't the only ones. At least fifteen people, were waiting in front of the elevator, most with nervous expressions on their faces. Six of us, including me, crammed onto it. Someone had hit the button marked 'six,' already, and when the doors closed we began our ascent.

Three minutes later, and we all stepped off, only to be herded into a line on the opposite wall. I estimated there to be about thirty people already here.

_At least it's not just me_, I thought.

Eventually everyone got here and we were systematically shushed. Not that I ever opened my mouth; I was in a state of perma-shock.

Mark, I think, ushered in the buying couple. Taking one look at them I knew my theory was true: the properly secured scientific organization thing was crap. This was obviously just some rich couple mainly interested in buying everything they can, just to say they have it. Like the Mansons, minus Sam.

"What exactly are you looking for, Mr. and Mrs. Kilpear?" Mark asked. I pondered over exactly what his job was.

Hesitating, Mrs. Kilpear said, "Why don't you just show us what you have?"

Point proven.

Mark took her over to some random guy. "Ian. Thirteen years old, 182 pounds, five feet, nine inches tall."

"What can he do?" Mr. Kilpear asked.

Ian looked like he was going to collapse. It was really ridiculous.

Mark elbowed him, and Ian squeaked out, "Telekinesis. Just . . . Telekinesis."

The Kilpears looked at each other. "Okay."

Mrs. Kilpear walked over to the man standing next to me. "What's your name?" she asked stiffly.

"A-allen. I freeze stuff."

I wanted to know how this was legal.

Mrs. Kilpear moved on to me (Mr. Kilpear was looking at some girl at the other end of the line). "And you?" She was trying to sound cold. She just came off nervous.

"Danny. Fenton," I said coolly. "Half-ghost."

She stepped back. "_The _Danny Fenton? Dear Lord, I recognize you. My boy went to school with you." She held out her hand, and I tentatively shook it. "I'm from Amity, sweetheart. Agatha Kilpear."

I must've looked relatively disgusted because she straightened up and looked at me. "It was my husband's idea to come here," she whispered. "Not mine. And just so you know, I really don't think you ought to be here. The city's a wreck and your parents just can't handle it by themselves."

Allen and the girl on my other side were staring at me.

"Erm - thanks, I think."

She suddenly became serious. "We could get you ought of here. By law we'd technically own you but it would get you back to Amity and we'd let you stay with your parents."

"I have a choice?" I asked softly. It didn't seem normal. True, this whole place was filled with choices - what to eat, what to wear, what to do. But all of the important things were out of our control entirely.

Mark came up behind Mrs. Kilpear and said, "Your husband has decided. I'm sorry, but it is time to escort you off the premises."

She jumped, and turned around. She opened her mouth to protest, but allowed herself to be taken away by Mark instead.

So much for that. I leaned into the wall sadly and waited to be dismissed.


	5. Timing

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated, Butch Hartman does. Also, I am making no money off of this whatsoever.

**Chapter Five**

I came to realization the next day that I was filthy and really, really needed to take a shower. I have absolutely no idea how anyone put up with me. So I hopped in the shower and washed away every speck of dust on my body. I was lucky I wasn't coated in zits; simply put, I must've gotten there just in time.

I changed into a pair of clothes that were very similar to the clothes I used to wear before coming here. Those had been thrown away long ago. By whom, I never knew. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair, which was only slightly matted, and decided to visit the gym. The muscle I had so painstakingly worked up over the last year had started to fade away.

Was all of this just some mental survival strategy, to keep my thoughts away from the fact that I had just come so close to getting out? Yes, yes it was, I am perfectly content admitting that. My life sucked at that moment, and I did what I could.

So while I was working on the treadmill, staring out into space, preoccupied with keeping any and all thoughts _out _of my head, I heard someone call from behind me, very rudely, "Hey, amigo! Good to see you again."

I pressed the stop button and turned around to face whoever had pulled me away from my lack of thoughts.

"Toby?" I said in surprise. I didn't ask where he came from this time. I already knew.

"Yeah. Back from my little trip, and not a moment too soon! When was the last time you visited the gym? I haven't seen you around. I used to come here everyday."

"Eh - I never came before now," I said slowly.

"I see. Well . . . would you spot me?" He chose that moment to randomly disappear. "Dang it! Bad timing. The pun wasn't intended, lemme tell you."

I stood there stupidly for a moment, trying to figure out what pun he was talking about before getting it, letting out an, "Ohhh," when I did.

"By chance do you go invisible yourself? You being half ghost and all?" he asked as he faded back into sight.

"Well, yeah."

"You ever just completely disappear at a bad time?"

Remembering one particular morning about a month after the accident, I sighed. "Plenty of times. I guess I can control myself a bit better, now. I haven't lost control in awhile."

Sighing as he lay down on the bench press, he gestured to me. "Will you spot me?" he asked again, and I nodded.

"Yeah, sure."

That was a good fifteen minutes wasted.

He finally sat up, and moved over to the treadmill. I went to a sit-up mat, and suddenly wondered why I was in here in the first place.

I was never one to exercise.

The moment I remembered this, a thousand different aches and pains jolted through my body. I sat up stiffly and told Toby absentmindedly that I'd see him later, before limping back to my room to take a nap.

Napping took minimal thinking, anyway. Of course there were dreams. But I never dreamed of my problems here. No, my nightmares were very far away from this dread facility. Very far away indeed . . . resting with one monster I'm sad to say was once me.

- - -

A couple of hours later I was no longer in complete agony, though I was still very sore. I cursed myself for being such an idiot (how on Earth did I forget that _I don't exercise_?), and hobbled up to get some dinner from the cafeteria. Thankfully, Toby was nowhere in sight and I managed to eat and brood in silence.

My strenuous effort to keep recent events out of my mind finally took enough of a toll on me so that I just couldn't do it anymore. As I ate, I thought of Mrs. Kilpear and her husband (whom I was slowly growing to hate more and more), my near-escape from Mt. Ivory, and the fact that I was very nearly bought by a couple of strangers.

Which is honestly a really weird sentence.

I told myself not to get my hopes up and that no one else from Amity Park would ever step foot in here again. The only other people who could possibly afford to buy a slave/pet/whatever from this place were the Mansons, and, well, that just wasn't happening.

I chewed on my peas, and, for the umpteenth time in these past couple of weeks, I had an epiphany.

I was disappearing. Both in the figurative and literal sense. For while I was changing, becoming a different person thanks to some unseen force around Mt. Ivory, I was also slowly sinking through the cafeteria floor.

As Toby put it: dang it! Bad timing.

No one paid mind to me; I was invisible. And, as noted, _sinking through the floor._

It took me about thirty seconds of falling (at a snail's pace, thankfully enough) to realize that I should probably pull myself out. I focused on making my hands as tangible as possible and put them on the floor in front of me.

In short: didn't work. Sank faster. Hit floor, now solid. Pain.

That was probably about all I could've said at that particular moment, at any rate. At least one of my arms was broken. I could tell because of the way the bone poked up through the skin.

_Well this is just great_, I thought. Everything screamed at me; sheer agony was a decent term. Well, everything except that arm. I convinced myself right then and there that the nerves had all died and that not _only _was I stuck here _forever, _I'd be crippled the rest of my life.

I really had no idea how long I lied there. Every spot on my body hurt and I was positive I would die before I could take another painful breath in.

Oddly enough, I didn't. I'd just fallen a very, very long way (how long it was, at the time, no consequence to me, and I didn't bother finding out later), a bone was sticking out of my freaking arm, and if I didn't have some form of internal damage I'll go out and tell the world I am in love with Vlad, but I lived.

In fact, I lived to stand up and look around the dark room I'd just waited out forever in, which seemed to be an abandoned ballroom of sorts, brush dust off of my shirt with two completely repaired arms, and finally collapse, noticing suddenly, that I was very, very hungry.

Amazing ghost boy: heals quick-as-lightning, and then dies because he hasn't eaten since whenever.

Karma, as I've said before, hates me. That was my last thought before I (finally) passed out.

Then, after the blackness had swallowed all but one tiny part of my mind, I wondered why I hadn't before.

Then that disappeared, too.

- - -

Yep, waking up (I think it was three days later) was not the most pleasant experience in the world. An IV was hooked up to my arm, and doctors were swarming around, paying no attention to me whatsoever. I briefly wondered if I was still invisible.

Then I noticed that I was miraculously not dead.

Okay, technicalities aside, anyway.

It was nice. I wasn't hungry anymore (something told me the IV had something to with that), and no, there wasn't a bone in my body that was either broken or sticking up through my skin at odd angles.

And, best of all, I could move my previously injured arm.

Of course all previous happiness drained out of me when I remembered that the doctors, scientists, whatever, probably had no idea that I'd ever been injured.

_I'd healed on my own._

True, at this point I already knew I was significantly lacking in the humanity department (so far as Mt. Ivory officials were concerned), but, ahem, recovering from that kind of dire injury was not normal, even by my impossibly high standards.

Then I slowly started to remember the number of injuries I'd sustained as Phantom, and how most of the small ones healed overnight, and the deeper cuts and nastier burns healed by the end of school the next day.

I closed my eyes again, praying that no one had noticed me open them in the first place, and tried to go back to sleep.

Maybe I was just medicated enough, but I did. And I'm still grateful for that to this day.


	6. Slice

_A/N: Quacked Lurker - if you could tell me what you mean by 'explain the terms in more basic information,' I would be happly to do so. _

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated, nor am I making any money off of this. (I do, however, own Mt. Ivory and all original characters associated with it.)

**Chapter Six**

After I-don't-know-how-long and enough bed rest to last me the rest of my life, I was finally out of the hospital and back on my regular, thankfully boring routine.

I was worried. No one could tell me what had caused my irregular power failure. So, basically, every waking moment I was wondering what would happen if I lost control to that degree again.

All in all, I was completely healed, much faster than any normal person ever would. Time went on, and my doubts became more and more pronounced, as did my questions.

What exactly had they found different about me that led to them to tell me I wasn't human? How had I healed so quickly? What was really up with this place?

I don't know what they were doing to keep everyone in this building so nonchalant and content. But it was starting to lose its grip on me. I could suddenly see the bags underneath everyone's eyes, and I started to notice that the employees here were very antisocial and, well, strange.

I could've sworn Ms. Redd's eyes were swollen up a couple of days ago, like she'd been crying just before I went in for our session. That Lewis (who was showing up in my life more and more since my accident) seemed to avoid talking as much as possible, and downright refused to answer any questions that didn't involve the time.

And then I saw Toby again.

"Heard 'bout your accident," he said suddenly, appearing the seat next to me in the cafeteria.

I jumped, slightly, but didn't turn to face him. "Yeah," I said.

He snatched a couple of fries off of my tray. "Must've hurt."

"Yeah."

"You missed another buyer."

"Yeah," I said, then stopped. I looked at him. "Really?"

"Yup. He walked away empty-handed, though. Seemed really disappointed by something."

"Oh?" My interest was waning.

"Yeah. That Mark guy tried to get him to stay. 'Oh, Mr. Masters, why don't you look at this fine specimen? He can turn into a _plant_.'"

I froze. ". . . Mr. Masters?"

Toby shrugged. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

I bit my lip. "Nothing."

He looked at me for a minute, then stole another couple of fries. "Whatever."

I took a bite out of a slice of watermelon, and we sat there for a minute. "Where are you from?" I asked him suddenly.

He smiled. "Born in Memphis, raised in Columbia."

"Which Columbia?"

"South Carolina."

"Ah." We sat there for awhile again.

"What about you?"

"Amity Park, Illinois."

Another long silence. I was half surprised he didn't fade out like he tended to do. I was also mildly amazed that I didn't do the same.

Toby suddenly stood up. "Hey, I gotta go. But I'll talk to you again soon. Right-o." He ran off, becoming invisible just before he would've left my range of vision, anyway.

I shook my head, and finished my lunch. Then, after dumping my plate off to be washed, I took the elevator downstairs and thought.

Was the man Toby had been talking about Vlad? How many rich Mr. Masters's are there, anyway?

But there was no doubt in my mind, really, that it was him. He'd evaded capture, and had come to get me, now.

Of course it didn't take him long to find out where I was.

_I'm doomed_, I thought drearily before noticing a note taped to my door. "Danny - lab. 3:30," was all it said.

I glanced at my clock, which I'd moved into the front room. 3:25.

I sighed, then rushed back to the elevator. I got to the lab, gave the receptionist lady my ID number, and half-ran, half-walked to the assigned room. Dr. Jared gave me a disapproving look. I looked at the clock in his office. 3:32. Dang.

"Sit," he said shortly, gesturing to a simple wooden chair that sat blandly in front of a simple wooden table with two rather foreboding-looking metal cuffs attached to it. I sat down, hesitantly.

"Just put your hands in the clasps . . . Good, good," he said absentmindedly and then snapped the cuffs shut. The vague memory of the GIW shackles that I'd been chained with when I had first come to Mt. Ivory came to mind, and I pushed the thought away.

I was sitting there, palms up, wrists attached to the table, and very worried. My worry increased when Dr. Jared, who was making a very obvious effort to look at me as little as possible, started cleaning a small, sharp-looking knife.

"W-what exactly are you going to be doing?" I asked, trying to keep my eyes off the blade.

"Just a simple test," he said very quickly, then kneeled in front of me. He raised the knife and starting cutting a line down my palm, slowly. Blood (which I noticed was disturbingly greenish) oozed from the wound. I did my best to keep from crying out, and managed to keep in all but a small whimper here or there.

After he'd sliced from one end of my hand to the other, he did the same thing to my other hand. I pulled against the clasps holding me there.

Dr. Jared looked at the cuts, then turned around and rinsed off his knife before grabbing something off one of his shelves.

I drew back as he squeezed a gel onto one of his fingers, and I actually flinched as he started rubbing said gel into my hands.

"What is this for?" I gasped, wishing desperately I could go run my palms under some cold water.

Dr. Jared didn't answer.

After he was done, he took the time to bandage my hands, and then unclasped me. "You're free to go," he said.

"What was that?" I asked.

"A test," he repeated, and instantly busied himself with other things. "Go. I have other appointments today, and I'd like to get done so I can get home - it's my wife's birthday."

I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to get any information out of him, and walked out, wondering what exactly had just taken place. My curiosity only grew when the receptionist saw my bandaged hands and winced.

I walked up to her. "Do you have any idea what that guy just did to me?" I asked.

She bit her lip. "It was just a test. That looks painful, is all."

I started to press on, but the frightened expression on her face made me leave her alone.

It was painful to hit the button for the elevator, and to turn the knob on the door to my room. I opted against the television (just the thought of working the remote made my hands hurt) and just lounged on the sofa.

Maybe I could work the secret out of Ms. Redd tomorrow. Even she'd been saying I hadn't been making use of our sessions.

- - -

The next morning I woke up overwhelmingly . . . content. It took me a moment to wonder why, and another to wonder how it was possible to be overwhelmingly content in the first place.

It was odd. I was completely aware of the fact that being content was not a good thing, but I just couldn't shake the feeling away. It troubled me, but it didn't, not really.

Slowly I got out of bed and rubbed my eyes. My hands didn't hurt anymore, but the bandages were a slight pinkish-green color.

I went to breakfast, trying to _keep _my depressing thoughts in my head, but it just didn't seem to work. By the time I was heading down to Ms. Redd's, memories of home, concerns about myself and my future, and all other negative feelings had seemingly vanished.

The one little part of my mind that refused to just give in to whatever was going on managed to comprehend the dark bags under Jane's eyes when I walked in and saw her.

"What's the matter?" I asked. She looked slightly alarmed that I should ask this, and quickly straightened up, smiling.

"Nothing, Danny," she said.

There was something I wanted to ask her . . . Something about . . .

"Jane?" I said.

"Yes?" she said.

"What the heck is this?" I held up my hands, which were still bandaged.

"A test," she replied instantly, and started flipping through various forms.

"For what?" I asked, forcing the words out of my mouth. My voice just didn't seem to want these questions.

She had to think for a moment. "Though it's hardly your right to know, the Guys in White are weapons testing. They wanted to know how you'd react to a certain chemical compound."

Lowering my hands, I cocked an eyebrow. "So I could die within the hour, you're saying. Or melt, or something." That would explain why they were unwilling to tell me . . .

She hesitated, and looked up at me. "That's not really any of your concern . . ."

A sentence that maybe kind of sort of made me angry. Kind of, maybe. I guess.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT ANY OF MY CONCERN? IT'S MY LIFE, IN CASE YOU HADN'T GATHERED!"

Lewis, who had been waiting in the corner so quietly I hadn't even heard him, pulled me back into my chair. My face was hot, and my hands were shaking.

"It's not, not _really_," Jane whispered quietly. "It's been about a month since we went in and wiped everything - your birth certificate, your school records, your passport, everything. Everything proving you're more than just some ghost, or some new government project - except the article that revealed you in the first place. A memory, Danny. Daniel Fenton is just a memory, and a news clipping."

I felt the color leave my face, and my trembling stop. "Why do you keep telling me these things? I'm here, and if you really want to keep me content with your mind-invading whatever, stop telling me how worthless I am."

Jane looked at me for a moment. "You know, that's what I'm here for. To agree with you on some things, and tear you down on others."

I blinked. "I've had enough," was all I said before getting up and leaving the room, hopefully forever. Lewis moved over to stop me, but Jane gestured for him to stop.

"He'll be back, don't worry."

"All right."

Walking back to my room (where I commenced to stare up at the ceiling for eighteen hours straight), I thought that, perhaps, it was probably a good idea for her to not expect that.


	7. Skin

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters or plots associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Seven**

- - -

_Two months later . . ._

_- - -_

Many things have happened since I've come to Mt. Ivory. Not to go all Dr. Seuss on you, but big things, little things, mediocre things, exciting things. Falling two stories into an abandoned ballroom and nearly starving to death was a big/exciting thing. So was storming out of Ms. Redd's office. Of course, that kind of things was few and far between, which was something I realized after being here for more than three months. It was mostly the small things that bothered me - Toby's ridiculous disappearances (he'd become something like a friend. Kind of.), the pointless phone calls I had with my parents and my friends, and the nagging feeling that wouldn't leave at the back of my mind that said I shouldn't worry so much, that everything was okay.

Needless to say, I ignored it as best I could.

My schedule had changed. I was no longer visiting Jane every morning (they didn't drag me back for whatever reason), and I was no longer spending half my time in my room. The gym had actually started to appeal to me. Puny Danny Fenton was now trim. Not buff, just . . . lightly muscled. Long walks, and even runs, on the treadmill didn't bother me, and neither did bench pressing about a hundred pounds.

Toby came and went, doing whatever it was he did during his absences. I enjoyed increasingly strange conversations with him, though he never told me where he went. He had actually managed to find me when he was completely visible a couple times, but all the same, I was no longer surprised when the set of weights beside me started lifting themselves, or when his disembodied voice greeted me.

"Danny," Toby said nonchalantly as he appeared out of nowhere.

"Toby. Been awhile," I said, not looking up.

"Yeah." He was quiet for a moment. "My last trip was somewhat interesting, you know. _Mucho _. . . well, something."

I sighed, but didn't ask about 'his trip'. He'd never give me a straight answer.

"How was it?"

"Same old, same old," he said airily, giving me no additional information whatsoever. I paid no mind. I was used to it. "Of course, Lupé has told me that I missed at _least _six buyers." Lupé was his therapist.

I looked up at him. "Yeah. There've been a lot more of 'em recently, dunno why."

He gave me 'don't you know anything' look before turning back to his weights.

"What?" I asked.

"'Course you don't know. But I'm me, you're you. What you know I don't and backwards and forwards and every which way." He grinned broadly, before setting down the weights and moving over to the water cooler. I stared at him.

"Wha -?" He took a swig of water and disappeared.

"Dang." He sighed audibly, and I saw the door open. "Ah, well, see you later, Danny. I got things to do."

_Useless_, I thought, stepping off the treadmill myself, not bothering to grab a drink. Come to think of it, the usual dearth of people willing to get their hands dirty in the muddy stream that was the slave trade (if we nonhumans could count as _slaves_, given the definition of the word) _had_ increased into a veritable cornucopia, compared to the norm, anyway.

"G'day, Danny." Lewis's familiar voice washed over me, and I turned around warily. When either Lewis or Mark showed up these days, it was usually to escort me to somewhere unpleasant. The old 'note-on-the-door' trick didn't seem to cut it ever since my little outburst a couple of months ago.

"Hi," I said.

"Dr. Jared wants you."

"C'mon! It's been two days!" I said angrily. "Nothing much could've changed since then."

"I'm not a scientist. I'm a security guard, remember? Ask him when you get there."

I repressed a snort. _Yeah, right. _Dr. Jared had been . . . less than sociable since the incident with that 'certain chemical compound,' or whatever (I wasn't altogether sure Jane hadn't been lying; though the tests I'd undergone definitely seemed to go in her favor). He wouldn't even talk except to give an order.

"Whatever." Lewis led me to the elevator, pressed the button for me, and shooed me on, leaning in to push the floor number before backing out and staring at me as the doors closed.

If I'd been, you know, Vlad, I would've reached out and snapped his neck.

But I wasn't, and I didn't.

"99325718," I said lazily to the receptionist, who glanced up nervously.

"Right," she said. "Right."

"Lab thirty-three."

I'd been expecting the usual ninety-two. I actually opened my mouth to protest before realizing it absolutely pointless, and just enjoyed the significantly shorter walk.

"Hello," I said, and Dr. Jared grunted a reply, not looking up, as usual, from whatever paper he was reading.

The lab was undeniably different, when I looked around. Though an assortment of bottles and beakers still lined the walls, and the strap-you-down dentist chair still in place, surgical tools were lined up neatly on one counter, and a slab sat in the middle of the room.

"Just - sit." I obeyed. He put his folder down after a minute and he looked at me meaningfully for a moment. Whatever the meaning of his look was, however, was lost on me.

I held out my hands automatically, knowing what he wanted to do. He stoically ran a finger down the scar on my right palm, then my right. "No deterioration," he mumbled to himself. Then, as if snapping out of a stupor, he stood up straight. "Get up and turn around."

I did so. He fingered the back of my neck, which was clear of hair thanks to a moron who'd cut it about two inches shorter than I'd asked.

"Extraordinary," he said. "Extraordinary. Turn around."

When I was facing him, he said excitedly, "The next time you come back, assuming you're not bought, of course, there is someone coming in today, come back here. I think I'll see you tomorrow."

What was it, I wondered briefly, that was getting him all worked up? Nothing good, I was sure. The news that _another _buyer was coming in that day was rather off-putting, as well.

After being shooed from his office, and after I managed to get back to my room, I took off my shirt and pulled out a hand mirror to look backwards into the mirror.

Running, from the nape of my neck to the middle of my back was a very unusual patch of skin. Not in an obviously negative way, either. It seemed that every flaw that had once been there was gone - no moles, off-colored bits, not even any hair.

Oddly enough, my first though upon seeing this was _Now we're getting there!_

Then I realized the connotations of this minor mutation. Whatever they'd given me was working - if it was in the way the GIW intended it to, I wasn't sure, but it was doing something.

It had only been a matter of time, all along. Whether I was going to die within the hour, or outshine Paulina by way of perfect skin, I wasn't sure. Of course, as the 'rash' was now rapidly creeping up my face and arms (even my hair seemed to be gaining new luster), and I was just about to be put under inspection by someone looking for the perfect slave, well, the dilemma had stretched about ten times thinner.

Supernatural good looks didn't go well with my whole remaining unnoticed scheme. Nor, really, did dying.

I stared at myself for a decent period of time. One hour, actually. In that time, I pretty much managed to achieve what even the most dedicated pretty girl couldn't with five years of spa treatments: absolutely disturbingly perfect skin.

I stared at myself, and then realized I had to _go_. By the looks of the thinning crowd outside of the elevator, I'd made it just in time. Thankfully, do to the general weirdness of half the people that have ended up here, I got only a few glances from the others.

It was then more than ever that I was sorry I'd told Tucker not to tell Mom and Dad the Guys in White had taken me, just before I'd been whisked away.

_But no_, I thought. _I had to be all noble and not want them to be arrested for trying to help me._

Mark glared at we stragglers and ushered us into the same kind of line we'd all been in on that first day. He gave me a rather strange look, but didn't say anything. Two minutes waiting, and he walked in.

When I say _he_, of course, I mean Vlad. I automatically edged back, concealing as much of myself from view as possible and limiting my ability to see Mark and Vlad.

"I'm glad your back, Mr. Masters. We've made some interesting recent captures . . ."

"Have you now?" Vlad said. "Of what kind?"

"Several decidedly non-human psychics."

"I'm not looking for psychics. Do you have anything with more . . . power?"

"Right this way." Mark's footsteps grew louder as he grew closer to me. Luckily, he stopped a couple of yards away from me. "This is Edwin - he was actually born here, you know, very docile, this one - he's a shape shifter. Rather gifted."

"I'll need someone who can go . . . Unseen . . ."

Mark laughed uncertainly. "Why, exactly?"

"Is that any of your concern, Mr. Graham?"

"No . . . I don't suppose it is. Well, this is Toby. He can become invisible, though his control needs serious work."

My heart rate increased. I doubted he would buy Toby, because Vlad was looking for me, but all the same . . .

"I don't have any control, is what you mean. Don't lie to your customers, it's bad for your PR," Toby said airily. His distinct lack of sarcasm scared me, slightly. Did he really not care . . .?

"Yes, well . . ." Mark started, but the _tap-tap _of Vlad's designer shoes was already coming closer. ". . . We do have another."

Vlad stopped. "Who?"

"His name is Dan-"

"Where is he?" he snapped. I could've sworn my heart stopped.

I stepped back further, edging behind the guy next to me, earning a glare. But I didn't care - if Vlad found me . . .

"He got in a bit late - he'd be down towards this end . . ." Mark actually passed right over me. Vlad, who was glaring intently at his back, did the same, and I sighed in relief. "He might be a bit further -"

"_Security breach - prisoner 2348972 has attempted escape - Lupé Culwell and Mark Graham please report to entrance 2A._" The intercom, which was unfortunately directly over my head, decided to share with us this news, and at just the right moment. Mark gulped. "We'll need to reschedule this, Mr. Masters. It might not be safe for you at the moment." I nearly laughed. Still, Vlad stalked off with Mark, again, thankfully paying no attention to my pathetic example of a hiding spot.

I edged out from behind whoever it was I was hiding behind and sighed, looking at the ground. I managed to catch a glimpse of my skin, which had started to take on a soft, nearly unnoticeable glow. Things were not looking up.

Eventually, people started filing out, down the elevator and back to their rooms. I followed.

_Who tried to break out? _I wondered briefly. _Surely no one's _that _stupid. _It was true, my one attempt was far from amazing, and I'm pretty sure no one even knows I tried, but I'd become increasingly convinced that escape wasn't possible as time wore on and not a single person tried.

I went to sleep quickly that night, covering as much of myself as I could with my blanket without suffocating. Just so I couldn't see myself. I figured when I went back to Dr. Jared the next day I'd demand to know what it was he'd done to me. But I still rather dreaded the idea.


	8. Memory

_A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. Real life is kicking me in the behind, for sure. I have had two ruddy position papers to write and a huge research project to do - and various friends have been paying to transcribe interviews they've conducted for said research project. So, yeah._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Eight**

I spent the next morning hiding out in my room, until I remembered that Dr. Jared wanted to see me again. I thought briefly about not going. But the idea didn't quite appeal to me. He, perhaps, would have some sort of answer.

So, hoping that no one I knew (namely Toby, as my social experience since coming here had been very limited) would see me, I set out, edging my way carefully down the hallway.

All the way there, I was rather disturbed by the glow that was coming off my skin, and, now, my hair. It wouldn't, if it were the kind of glow I'm used to - the glow of the swirling ectoplasm that makes up my ghost form's body. This was different. I was still a completely corporeal semi-human, and the glow wasn't coming from the material that made me up, it was coming directly off my skin.

I managed to get into the elevator without fault. And Toby was not waiting in there, invisible. I checked in with the receptionist, who winced when she saw me but looked away quickly. Apparently, Dr. Jared had cancelled all of his appointments for the day just to see me. Which was not all that comforting.

"G'day, Danny," he said sociably as I walked in, rather than his usual uncaring 'hey' or grunt.

"Hi," I said awkwardly. "Look -"

"Please, sit down," he said, cutting me off. I edged over to the dentist's chair that sat in the middle of the room.

"Could you just tell -"

"When was it that all of your skin was covered?" he asked, interrupting me again.

"I dunno, some time yesterday. What -"

He scribbled something down on a clipboard he'd pulled out of nowhere. "Have you been feeling any different?"

"No. Is it possible that you -"

"After the transformation spread beyond the back of your neck, where did it go?"

"My face and shoulders, I think. Really, would you just -"

He put down the clipboard. "Do you have any idea what is happening to you?"

"What do you think I've been trying to ask you?" I said irritably.

"Look, Danny, I've been studying ghost physiology and the like rather extensively since you first came here -"

"You've hardly given me a passing glance!"

He ignored me, and moved on. "- and from what I've been able to gather, the reason you reacted the way you did to the compla - to the chemical that we put in you a while back was because both sides of you are at a time when you are very susceptible to change. Your ghost half is about a year old now, correct?"

"Yeah," I said begrudgingly.

"So, according to findings from the GIW, ghost around a year old grow more stable, and more powerful. And boys around your age - well, you know what I'm talking about."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what's this got to do with that cream-stuff?"

"The 'cream-stuff,' as you so eloquently put it, was supposed to be synced up with your genetic structure."

I leaned back. "And?"

"And instead of fulfilling its . . . intended purpose, it altered the directions your hormones are sending to you, to put it simply."

I blinked. Well, that was a new one. "What're the changes supposed to be _now_?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said brightly. "The accumulation of ectoplasmic cells underneath your skin is only the beginning, though, I'm pretty sure. But I'll need to run some tests." He looked at me. "You're the first kid I've had to deal with that's actually had an altered life cycle. The GIW are really very excited about you. So am I, for that matter."

I groaned inwardly. Though Dr. Jared had told me, basically, what was going on, it didn't sound like things were going to be getting any easier for me.

Life sucks, right?

"What kind of tests?" I finally asked warily.

"Nothing life threatening," he said simply, and I opened my mouth to protest, then I closed it. Wouldn't do me much good.

Dr. Jared seemed to notice my near protest, and stared at me for a moment before smiling ever-so-slightly. I sank back, and sighed internally.

"How about we start with some more blood tests?" the scientist asked, his smile growing.

_Life_, I thought, _most definitely sucks._

- - -

That evening, I left the lab with several with a general hatred of anything sharp, and a slightly bleaker outlook on life. I'd also probably have some serious scars if it wasn't for my new 'skin condition.'

An altogether too-cheery Dr. Jared had dismissed me after hours of both painful and awkward experiments, and told me to come back in a couple weeks to get the results. On, basically, what in the name of all that is good I was going to have metamorphosed into when I come out of my cocoon. Or something like that.

I basically fell into bed, wincing as my sore . . . everything . . . clashed with the mattress. "Shut up," I told the buzz that had invaded my consciousness due to sheer exhaustion.

_I haven't been this tired since . . ._

_. . . Since . . ._

I sat bolt upright in bed, fatigue all but forgotten. _I couldn't remember. _I couldn't remember my nightly adventures, the ones that left me so tired in the mornings that I usually slept through all of English. I knew I'd had them, I just couldn't remember.

And then I realized - it was all gone. I knew what'd happened, down to what people said and the clothes I was wearing - but the memory itself was gone. Sam and Tucker were vague concepts; the actual idea of being Danny Phantom was foreign to me. It was as if I'd read my entire life from a history book.

I also realized that I'd only used my powers once since coming to Mt. Ivory, and that was in a completely half-hearted, futile attempt to escape. I hadn't stayed in ghost mode for more than three to five minutes.

And now - everything from my very first memory up until the point where I made Tucker _promise _not to tell anyone why I'd disappeared - was practically nonexistent.

Acting on impulse, I hopped out of bed and ran out into the hall. Turning the room right next to mine, I knocked frantically on the door. A slightly groggy boy, maybe sixteen, opened it, and I could hear the sound of a TV in the background.

"What?" he asked, eyeing my (still bizarre) skin.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Why?"

I started hyperventilating. "Please . . . just . . . who are you?"

"Davy," he said.

"What is - was - your last name?"

". . . Hammond. Look, kid, could you please just -"

"Where did you come from?" I insisted, ignoring his complaint. _I had to know if . . ._

"Fort Worth."

"What . . . what was your life like there?"

Davy stared at me for a moment, obviously annoyed. "It was . . ." He paused. "It was . . ." His eyes widened. "I don't know."

_. . . if it was just me._

"N-neither do I," I whispered. "It's just gone. My whole life is just _gone_."

"How - why?" he said, not entirely to me. The realization on his face was painful to watch.

_They'd really stolen everything._

"How long have you been here?" I asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

He bit his lip, and looked at me. "Two years. Since I was your age. My brother rammed into me with his motorbike, and I didn't have scratch on me. Then, after Mike had jumped off it and was checking up on me, the bike _exploded_. Mom rushed me to the hospital and they couldn't explain anything. The next day . . . I was taken here. But I don't actually . . . remember it happening. All I remember is that it happened."

_My family._

Here I was, talking to a complete stranger, whom I'd barged in on at seven o'clock at night, lamenting over something we only realized we'd lost about thirty seconds ago.

Funny how these things work out, particularly when life is like mine.

_My freedom._

"I'm going to bed," I said suddenly. Davy didn't question, he just shut the door to his room. The television noises stopped.

_My identity._

I slid into the bed, ignoring the pain and trying my best not to think. With any luck, it would be possible to just close my eyes and sleep. And, maybe, if karma would allow me any sort of peace, I wouldn't have to dream.

_My life._

Because if I dreamt, or if I thought, it'd only be about them - the faces that existed by didn't, the things that happened but were really only stories. And then, when I woke up in the morning, I wouldn't either.

So maybe I wouldn't be me anymore - I'd be non-human prisoner number 99325718, called Danny just for simplicity.

Or maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll manage to be Danny Fenton, the boy that doesn't exist.


	9. Exercise

_A/N: Hey, I got this up pretty quickly. Eh, it would be longer, but . . . I liked the ending. 1300 words or so isn't all that bad, though, I guess. Not all that good, but . . . eh._

_And . . ._

_Oh my. Over one hundred reviews. -faints-_

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, or any characters/plots associated, and I am not making any money off of this.

**Chapter Nine**

After that night, I noticed something strange. Starting with me and spreading outward, a ripple of depression worked its way through Mt. Ivory. The usual calm, uncaring, and complacent attitude most everyone had here had almost completely vanished - people were depressed and angry, and I overheard more than a few arguments breaking out.

I realized dully that our recent enlightenment was all because of me. But it wasn't a high priority thought. I was more concerned with my rapid transformation.

My skin was still glowing and rather creepy, and my voice continually switched from echo-y to normal and back again. My appetite was also rapidly deteriorating, for reasons could only guess at.

Then, of course, there was the matter of my sort-of-kind-of memory loss. It disturbed me more than ghostly puberty by a landslide. I could remember clearly that my father was Jack Fenton, my mother was Maddie Fenton, and my sister was Jazz Fenton. I could tell anyone who asked that my father was a bit on the robust side and more than a little obsessed, but I couldn't tell you what I thought about his obsession. I could say that my mother was an incredibly good fighter, but what I actually felt about the fact that she used those skills in a major effort to destroy me, I could only guess. I knew full well that Jazz wanted to be a psychologist and oftentimes used me as her Guinea pig. But the fact that I'd once thought her to be overbearing was lost.

So I managed to fall into a decent sort of stupor. I woke up, I ate, I worked out, I ate, I watched TV, I fell asleep. Toby had, for the umpteenth time, disappeared, and I wasn't altogether disappointed. He'd make me think when I sure as heck didn't want to.

He had an unnatural knack for that.

"Fifty-four, fifty-five . . ." I whispered the number of the sit-up I was on.

"Sixty sit-ups, Danny?" Toby asked. Speak of the devil. I hadn't even noticed that one of the treadmills was running.

"Yeah," I said, not stopping, and keeping the count going on in my head. "Aiming for about a hundred today." _Sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four _. . .

I could practically hear Toby grinning, though he was currently both invisible and out of my range of vision.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" he said, and I could hear a _click _as the treadmill turned off.

_Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight _. . .

"For what?" _Eighty-one _. . .

"Getting you out of that mess."

I sighed. "What mess?"

"The guy who was looking for you. I . . . intervened."

At ninety-one, I rolled over. I still couldn't see him, however. "That was you? _You _tried to break out?" I asked incredulously.

"No freaking duh," he said, slightly exasperated. A cup from the cooler began to fill itself up. "And at a great personal cost, too."

I stood up, and walked over to the place where his cup was now floating. "Why?"

He became visible right at that moment. I could see quite a few bruises on his face, and one deep cut that hadn't quite healed up properly yet. "Because you didn't seem to remember that you can become invisible, dumb wad." His expression became rather distant. "And I'm the walrus."

"Goo goo g'joob," I said dryly. "But seriously, they didn't, you know, murder you?" It wouldn't surprise me if he was dead. Stranger things had happened.

He raised an eyebrow, and took another sip of water. "They wouldn't do that," he said simply. "So, _c'mon_, thank me," he whined.

"Thanks," I said, and grinned. "I'd rather be stuck here for the rest of my life than be stuck with Vlad. Particularly as his slave." On an emotional level, I wasn't sure _why_, but I did remember the terrible things he'd tried to do, and how one of his greater endeavors was to try and get me to join him. "Hey," I said suddenly. "Where are you from?"

"Columbia, South Carolina," he said. "Already told you."

"What was it like?" A rather off-the-wall idea had invaded my mind.

"I have no idea," he said nonchalantly. "You know that." My hopes sank; Toby, even in his strangeness, hadn't not been affected. He paused, and chuckled. "And I guess now everyone else knows that, now, too. Shame, really. The poor guys don't have any idea what hit 'em. But ignorance is misery, and _whoever _spread the word did them all a favor." He winked at me before fading out again.

"How did _you _know?" I asked him.

"I am me and you are you and I know what you know and backwards and forwards and every which way," he said uselessly. "You'll find out eventually - and so will everyone else. But I can't say."

His paper cup then crumpled itself up and threw itself in the trash. The door opened and closed, and I lay back down on the mat to finish my sit-ups. _Waste of breath_, I thought as I began again. _Ninety- . . . erm, two, ninety-three, ninety-four _. . .

- - -

"_This is Tiffany Snow, live from Amity Park Broadcasting. I'm here to bring you footage of proof to the infamous ghost boy Danny Phantom's identity. It has been revealed that the spectral teenager is more than just a ghost. He's been going to school with your children, eating at our restaurants, and even living with our town's most respected ghost hunters . . ."_

I woke up, the sound of the morning alarm bringing me out of my nightmare. It wasn't the first time I'd replayed that heart-wrenching newscast in my dreams; and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Somehow the emotions that corresponded with various memories returned to me when I dreamed. That wasn't always a good thing.

I slid drowsily out of bed, fighting my way out of the sheets. I had been toying with an idea since the night before, and the moment my feet touched the floor, I had made my decision. I was going to go back to Ms. Redd. She had, up until I ran out of her office two months previous, been my only semi-decent supplier of information. And boy did I need information.

Briefly I struggled to remember my appointment time. I didn't honestly think she would've kept it open, but what better time to show up? It was nine o'clock, or something. No, ten . . . Right, it was ten.

So I walked over to my dresser, and shuffled through it until I found something I'd remembered to wash in the past month or so (meaning a white t-shirt and jeans). Then I worked my way into the tiny bathroom, and dragged a wet comb through my hair. I was fully planning on letting it grow back out; it was unnerving to have it that short when it had been hanging in my eyes my whole life.

After completing my morning routine, I went off to breakfast unwillingly. I just wasn't hungry in the slightest. _But_, I reasoned, _I have to eat. _At least, I prayed to whatever god was currently on duty that I did.

Breakfast was normal - toast and eggs - and I didn't talk to anyone. The general air of depression hadn't lifted.

The clock on the wall in the cafeteria still only read seven when I left. So I just headed down to the gym.

Exercise was something that was surprisingly easy to bury myself in. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, now that I was less wimpy. Significantly less wimpy, really. And it used up just enough of my mind so that I could avoid all those unpleasant thoughts that whirled around in my head when I wasn't doing anything.

So I moseyed over to the treadmill, turned it on, and managed to jog at a steady pace for ten minutes before Lewis walked into the room.

"Danny?" he asked. I switched off the device and stepped off.

"Yeah?"

"You're wanted on level five."

* * *

_A/N: I just keep piling it on, don't I? Eh, it's all important, and will work out in the end. How it works out . . . well, I'm not saying a word._

_Have a nice day._


	10. Complacency

_A/N: Another thirteen-day hiatus. But - alas! I actually have a decent excuse this time. First, I went to New York City for seven days, then, because said trip meant getting about an hour of sleep a night and traipsing all over Manhattan with only an incredibly _soggy_ (I kid you not) Subway sandwhich in my stomach, I got sick. I'm still sick. But there's little I can do about it, so last night I just sucked it up and finished this._

Disclaimer: I do not own _Danny Phantom_ or any characters or plots associated, that honor belongs to Viacom, Nickelodeon, and Butch Hartman; nor am I making any money of of this.

**Chapter Ten**

"You're wanted on level five."

I stopped and stared at Lewis. I suddenly had a vague recollection of the very first time I met Toby. He'd been heading to the fifth floor at the time. _Is that where he goes? _I wondered.

"You're wanted on level five," Lewis repeated. "Now."

I blinked, coming out of my thoughts. "Why?" I asked. Lewis glared at me and pushed me out the door.

"No one else asks that, you know," Lewis said. "Just come on." I moved over to walk beside him and followed, now in a state of mute curiosity.

He stopped next to the elevator, pushed the 'up' button, and shoved me on. I managed to press the 'five' button before he could do it for me. He scowled slightly and stared at me until the elevator doors were securely closed.

"Glad he's gone." I didn't jump. It was Toby's voice, after all, and I was quite used to him appearing out of nowhere. "I never liked Lewis."

"You know him?" I asked the general elevator.

"Of course I know him," Toby said. "He was under Lupé until he asked for a transfer."

I didn't want to know why he'd wanted a transfer. I really didn't.

"What's on level five, anyway?"

Toby became visible, and I noted that his face didn't look much better than it did the day before. "Picture yourself on a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies."

I sighed, irritated. "Stop ripping off Beatles lyrics and tell me what the heck is going on."

Toby just grinned. "Roll up for the magical mystery tour," he said, without a hint of sheepishness, and I sighed. He was being as useless as ever, and I obviously wasn't going to get any more out of him than usual.

The elevator pulled to a stop, and the doors opened. Toby stepped in front of me before I could catch a decent look and strode easily out. I followed, almost skittishly, behind him. It was a long hallway, possibly an office complex.

"What is this place?" I whispered.

Toby said, perfectly loudly, "Level five. Administration and . . . marketing."

"Then why are we here?" I asked, slightly louder than before. Toby didn't answer, but I still got the feeling he was smiling. I felt the urge to slap him.

How could he be so _nonchalant _about _everything_? Everything - the prospect of being bought up by some rich idiot, the idea that he wasn't human, _everything_. It was completely infuriating. And on top of that, he wouldn't tell me anything at all.

"Here we are," he said cheerfully, stopping in front of a seemingly random door. "Mrs. Garner's office."

He led me in. This Mrs. Garner's office was sleek, yet old-fashioned - most of the furniture was obviously antique, but everything was placed in very efficient places.

Toby gestured for me to sit down in a wooden chair, and he sat down in one right next to it. "Mrs. Garner and Emma will be here soon."

"Who's Emma?" I asked, settling for the question he was most likely to answer.

"Our fellow non-complacent." Then he sighed happily. "And the most beautiful person ever to be born."

"Our . . ."

"Fellow non-complacent," he repeated, but didn't elaborate. I resigned myself to fidgeting in my seat.

A couple of minutes later, the door opened, and I turned around to see who it was. "We're here," an older woman, presumably Mrs. Garner, said, stepping through the door. "Emma, get in here."

Mrs. Garner walked all the way into her office, and sat down in front of her desk. I was so busy watching her that I didn't notice Emma shuffle through the door and take a seat next to Toby.

"I just want you two to know - oh. You're here."

I blinked, and nodded.

"Danny, right?" I nodded again. "All right, then. You ought to've said something, kid." She paused. "Anyway, I want you two to know that your work with Mr. Masters was highly successful, even if he has yet to make any sort of decision, he's still informed us that he is definitely looking to buy."

Like so man things recently, it honestly took me a minute to process that. Then . . . "_What_?"

Toby and Mrs. Garner ignored me, but Emma leaned back in her seat to look at me. I glanced over, and instantly recognized her. She was the blue-haired, turquoise-eyed girl from the whole incident with Mrs. Kilpear. She stared for a minute, then brought up her hand in a 'shhh' motion.

". . . so you'll be spending the week with Maxine Roberta and her husband," Mrs. Garner finished. "And, Emma, you can stop staring at Danny. He's no more a freak than you."

"Yes, Mom," Emma said quietly, repositioning herself again. My thoughts were so strictly _VladVladVladVladVlad _that the 'Mom' bit didn't quite sink in.

Mrs. Garner recollected herself, and peered at us. "The Robertas are ideal candidates for our little marketing program. Both have watched the city they were raised in fall to shambles thanks to a mob of _freaks_. They're likely very prejudiced, but no so much as to want you all dead, since they themselves have had no casualties. And they're very, _very _rich."

"So is this a standard step-in, suck-up operation?" Toby asked, cocking his head to one side.

Mrs. Garner smiled, and not altogether pleasantly. "Probably. And don't let the intern screw it up. It's not everyday such a perfect opportunity shows up."

"All right then," Toby said, standing up. Then he gestured for the door. "Emma, Danny? After you."

I stood up numbly, following Emma out the door. Toby drifted out behind us. After Mrs. Garner's door was shut and we were somewhat down the hall. "I guess you'll be needing the 411, eh?" he asked.

Emma glanced at me again. "Mom really won't be happy if you screw this up."

I snapped out of my Vlad-induced stupor to stare at Emma. "That was your _mom_?"

"Yeah," she said. I didn't question further. Besides, I was too busy trying to push Vlad out of my mind (while still getting the information I needed) to worry about her family life.

"Right," Toby said, cutting in. "The basics of the advertising job: the three of us go off and spend a week with some rich old bat, or some rich family, or some rich couple, or just some generally rich people and try to convince them that forced domestic servitude is a good idea, via much self-depredating, sanctimonious justification of the practice, and, above all, sycophancy." He paused. "Usually they're good about picking good people to advertise to, but I remember one particularly nasty time in which we tried to present a pitch to a rather enthusiastic civil rights activist . . ."

Emma snorted. "That was pretty bad. Hallelujah for mem-mod."

"Mem-mod?" I questioned.

"Short for memory modification," Toby explained.

Given that this new tidbit of information did not surprise me in the slightest (my standards for 'strange' had increased astronomically in the past year, and in the past couple of months), I simply went on to my next question. "And how, exactly, do we convince them to let us stay with them for a full week?"

Emma shrugged. "Don't ask me. That bit's taken care of by the time we get there."

Raising an eyebrow, I looked at her. "Speaking of which . . . how exactly do we get there?"

"Van, if it's close, copter or plane if it's not. No idea where these people live, so I don't know about this particular trip."

"Ah," I said. "So the entire point of this job is nudging the quality of our own lives down the drain?"

"Of course," Toby said, smirking slightly. "We're the ones who refused to be affected by the complacency compound, so, in turn, we refused that last ounce of personal dignity. On top of that you two got some nice side effects, but, ah . . ." He started giggling slightly as Emma rammed him in the arm.

"Shut up, Toby," she said, almost playfully. I blinked, and decided to ignore the implications of this, before stopping dead in my tracks.

"The _what_?"

Emma and Toby stopped, as well, and exchanged meaningful 'poor, poor, naïve fool' looks before sighing in unison. "Are you that thick?" Emma asked. "You didn't notice that everyone here, I don't know, doesn't seem to give a rat's ass about their lives being ruined?"

"Em, language," Toby chastised.

"I _did _notice that. I'm not freaking blind, you know."

"Well, there's something keeping them in line, Dan. The wiser of us call it the complacency compound, 'cause it's _official _name is just about longer than anyone can say in a single breath without dying of oxygen depravation." Toby wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "But don't worry. All it did to you and Emmalina-aquamarine over there is permanently scar your chances of finding a sane significant other." Emma flushed horribly.

My head swimming with the several sudden explanations I'd been given within the span of about forty seconds, I started walking again, Toby following. "We'd better get going," I said numbly, evening out some of the kinks in my current perception of the world.


	11. Interlude: Stare

_A/N: Do not ask me why I call my interludes intermissions. Just don't. And don't ask me why I did this, either, I have no clue. But it is necessary . . . slightly . . ._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters/plots associated, not am I making any money off of this.

**Intermission**

_. . . I really can't believe it, you know. That he's gone. Tucker says he might not come back. I wouldn't even begin to know why'd he think - say - something like that at all. The Fentons said he _called_. Three times. One for each month he's been missing. If he's alive, why wouldn't he come back? He has to come back. Danny, no matter how many bruises and broken bones he has, he always comes back. He's always okay. He's always Danny. That might be why I fell in love with him. Even if he doesn't want to, even if his secret is out and everyone knows, why wouldn't he? He knows we're his family. And besides, if I never see him again, how can I tell him that I love him? . . ._

- - -

Sam Manson stared angrily up at the sky. Why, she wondered, did it have to be same color as his eyes? The _exact same shade_. It didn't even deserve it, she realized, as she looked down at the sidewalk and began walking again. Nothing and nobody deserved to resemble Danny in any way, shape, or form.

Which is why she was a hypocrite for keeping her hair black and taking out her lilac-tinted contacts and wearing normal, clear ones so that her eyes would be somewhat closer to the blue his had been. Aquamarine was more similar than purple.

"One foot in front of the other," she muttered to herself. "One step at a time." Who could blame her for wanting to look in the mirror every morning and see something of Danny? Who could blame her for wanting a little more of Danny than pictures and souvenirs and that one awful newsreel that would forever remain in her VCR slot, waiting to be played over and over and over again.

So she walked down the street. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

_- - -_

_. . . Why did I promise him I wouldn't tell his parents and Sam where he was? Man, if the Guys in White have him - well, I can't break my promise. It was what he wanted. It was the _last _thing he wanted of me, wasn't it? Even if he is alive (the GIW are messing with the Fentons, I'm sure of it), he isn't coming back. They're the freaking government. They have enough technology available to keep Superman under lock and key. Sam still thinks he has to come back, but I know better. And I have to keep my promise. His life is over. I was his best friend. I have to honor his dying wish . . ._

_- - -_

Tucker Foley stared apathetically at his PDA, which was sitting, nearly pleadingly on his desk. "No," he told it. "_You _are what's keeping Danny from getting out. Without _you _Danny would still be here."

Technology had betrayed him, there was no doubt about it. His love for it had evaporated the moment he realized, about a month after Danny was captured, that technology was what was keeping his best friend from getting free. The Guys in White had plenty of it, he was sure. They were using it to keep Danny strapped to a slab God-knew-where . . .

"I can't think like that," he said to himself as much as his PDA. "You're the one driving me up the wall."

Even if his love for tech had evaporated, his _obsession_, well . . .

But Danny came first. He always would. Danny was the one that had pulled him out of Lake Amity four years ago; not any amount of technology. Danny was the one that had saved his life countless times since; not his infernal PDA. Danny was the one who'd been through _hell_, most certainly not his collection of gadgetry.

Danny was his best friend. And even if he was dead, or being tortured or . . .

"I hate you," he told the palm pilot forcefully and stood up.

. . . Or anything else, Danny came first. Danny wanted what Danny wanted, that was true. He couldn't tell a soul where he was. But he could do his part. Giving up a lifelong love was worth it, for Danny.

- - -

_. . . Danny, oh Danny, why'd you have to go? Jack and I don't care that he was half ghost, or even the ghost kid. We love him too much for that. Running away wasn't the answer. Where could he have gone, anyway? Everyone knows about him now, he has fans world over - there'd be nowhere to hide. But I guess he's always been a smart kid, and no telling what kind of disguises he's capable of. I don't have the slightest clue what he's capable of at all. Phantom, he always held back too much in our battles. Looking back, I can see that now. Oh, we love him so much. He has to see that, someday . . ._

- - -

Maddie Fenton stared helplessly into her java. Even talking to Danny hadn't helped lift her glum mood; if anything, it had sunk them. He had told her that he wouldn't be coming back. Ever.

Was it a lie? Might've been. Anything was possible these days. Next Vlad might call up and say he was the Wisconsin Ghost. That'd almost be funny.

"Why'd he run away?" she asked herself for the millionth time. "Could he honestly believe that we wouldn't love him anymore? Jack, Jazz and I would never . . . And I'm sure neither would Tucker and Sam . . ."

Months had passed and nothing had changed. Sure, they'd stopped the TV appearances, and the buzz had died down . . . Somewhat. But no one felt any better, and there was still so much murmuring when she or Jack passed by a crowd.

And, of course, the town was a wreck. Danny had done more than they ever could imagine. The ghosts . . . The ghosts were too much. Jack was out fighting them, as she rested, with that girl in the black techno-suit. The girl couldn't've been older than fourteen or fifteen, Maddie thought, and if she and Jack, who could cover for each other, were sleep deprived, then, well, the poor kid must be dead on her feet.

Possibly literally. Who knew? She might be another ghost-fighting ghost, right? Like . . .

She mentally cursed herself for getting back on the topic of her son. Then she heard the front door open, and Jack's lumbering footsteps. Giving it one last disdainful glance, Maddie chucked her cold coffee in the sink. It was time to catch some ghosts.

- - -

_. . . I know I was nosy, I know I was bossy, and I know I butted into his life just a little too much sometimes. But I was _nothing _like that _evil _Snow woman. She always looked so perky on the news. Perky, but smart. But then she went and made her career while ruining Danny's life. I'm not even sure how she found out. She's the reason he ran away. I almost wish, well, I almost wish Mom and Dad had never told me he'd called. Knowing he'd run away and then do that to us, give us the horrifying knowledge we'd never see him again was cruel. We never told Sam or Tucker that he said he was never coming back. I think Tucker knew, already, or he's just being pessimistic. But Sam still clings onto that hope that he'll return to us, to her, one day, and I pity her for that . . ._

- - -

Jazz Fenton stared stupidly at her American History textbook. One sentence refused to make sense to her. "If it weren't for the media," she read out loud, hoping for some clarification, "the actions of Nixon's allies would've never been exposed and he would have stayed his full four years in the White House."

Eventually, however, clarification offered itself, and she shut the book angrily. Continued American History was an optional course, anyway, she'd taken it for fun. She'd drop it Monday.

How could any respectable intellectual work do anything but _condemn _the media? All of them - even small-town reporters and anchors - were pompous, self-serving bigots, as far she was concerned. Particularly Tiffany Snow, Lance Thunder, and nearly every writer at the Amity Park _Angle_.

"I won't have them try to shove that nonsense down my throat," Jazz sighed angrily.

Of course she'd set aside her personal prejudices when, one day, some schizophrenic prime time anchorman came into her office for help; Jazz Fenton had nothing if not work ethic.

But this was a matter of an optional course in her senior-freaking-year, and she couldn't afford to take a class that was built on _lies_.

Oh, she'd read plenty of books. John M. Ryan's _Media and Society: The Production of Culture in the Mass Media_, James Stovell's _Writing for the Mass Media_, and many, many others. All in the span of a couple of months.

But she still couldn't understand. Why had anyone, anyone at all, wanted to do that to her little brother?

"So they're all egotists," Jazz said, and sighed. "There's no other explanation."

- - -

_. . . Whether I should feel guilty or murderous is still up for debate. But until that boy comes back, there's no dang way I'm making that decision quite yet. I understand how much this affected his life; I have a secret identity to protect, too. And if he comes back, fully recovered, and gives me reason to believe he was evil, I'm not holding back. He can be as human as he wants to be, but evil is evil. A ghost is a ghost. But if he walks back, still broken, and gives me reason to believe he was the hero he always said he was, I'm going to hug him. Because he took it. He took it all. He complained, sure, but he took it. I'm not quite sure whether or not he was trying to kill me, that one time, now. A ghost _was _possessing my suit. He might've known. So if he's not evil, I'm going to hug him. Because he took it all and then let me walk away . . ._

_- - -_

Valerie Gray stared, completely focused, on the ghost in front of her. Mr. Fenton had left minutes before this one had shown up. "Oh, child, you cannot defeat me, even in your upgraded form! You have to remember who gave it to you! It was I, Technus, master of all . . ." Valerie managed to get a good blast in to the left side of the ghost's head, singing his mullet a bit.

Dangit, Danny, why'd you have to leave? Because he was worried she'd kill him?

Oh, right. Valid excuse.

Technus glared at her, snapping her out of her thoughts. "I wasn't done yet."

Valerie groaned, tired. She'd managed an hour of sleep last night, which was way better than she'd gotten in the past few months. "I really don't care," she said, dryly, too exhausted for trash talk or witty banter. She blasted him again.

Technus snarled. "So be it, child, I will -"

Another blast hit Technus square in the chest. Technus fell back through the air a bit, before coming back up to glare at her again.

Valerie gasped. She'd hit . . . Phantom . . . In exactly the same way. About five months ago. Technus took the opportunity to start ranting again.

"I will disable you, one part at a time!" Technus began to cackle. "Just like you wanted to do to your lover-boy, right?"

Valerie's eyes suddenly hardened, her exhaustion evaporating. This spook was toast.

- - -

_. . . Damnit, Fenton was a brave kid. He was scrawny as it's healthy to be, but he was a brave kid. All those times I was wailin' on him, and he coulda just _destroyed _me, but he didn't. I guess I always respected Phantom 'cause he was just so _cool_. Then I find out this bottom-of-the-food-chain, so far out of the A-list he's a Z kid, whom I always though was the opposite of cool, was Phantom, and I kinda thought my brain was going to explode. But now I guess I just see he's brave. More brave than I ever thought he could be . . ._

- - -

Dash Baxter stared mercilessly at Mikey Kilpear. The nerd before him shivered, letting out a soft whimper. Kwan stood ready to open the locker, then Dash's eyes softened, and he dropped Mikey to the ground. The skinny boy before him stared for a minute before running off, screaming.

Kwan looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Why'd you let him run off like that?"

"I'm tired, all right?" Dash snapped. "'Sides, couldn't hurt to give the wimps a bit of a break every now and then, right?"

Kwan only nodded hesitantly. There was a pause. "Look, D-man, I think I'm gonna go spend free period in the library, okay? My English grade's failing, and Lancer might kick me off the football team if it goes below a B-. I don't have all those touchdown passes to lean on like you."

Dash just shrugged. "Knock yourself out." Kwan smiled, briefly, before running off as well.

What had Fenton _done _to him? All the joy he'd gotten out of nerd wailing had completely disappeared, leaving only a driving need to keep up the bully bit and stay 'cool.'

But was he cool at all? Heck, compared to Fenton (Fenton!) he was just as wimpy as Mikey. He didn't quite understand why the half-ghost had run away from Amity Park, but he was sure there was some reason that was just as cool as he was. He was a _hero _after all.

Dash rubbed his temples, leaning back on Mikey's locker. Nothing made sense nowadays. Half the school was rubble (thanks to some ghost that called itself the Lunch Lady), Phantom was gone, scrawny, wail-able Fenton was Phantom - and he was gone. Not to mention Valerie, the ex-A-lister with the schoolwork Nazi of a father, had stopped coming to school, and Jazz Fenton, Danny Phantom's sister, had actually dropped a course.

And, of course, the boy he constantly beat up and nagged was his idol. His idol who probably could've destroyed him with a thought. Who was now _gone_. Dash just didn't get it. It was unlikely he ever would.

- - -

_. . . I think I'm the only one who actually knows what happened to the Fenton kid. Well, Mother and I. And maybe Paul, the little boy my parents 'adopted' from that governmental holding facility. I don't quite know what to think of it; I'm not exactly for the idea that the town hero is currently up for auction, but at the same time I'm trying to be rather indifferent. Either way, I can't go blabbing off, my parents' reputation is at stake. Mother told me she'd've liked to be able to tell someone, but Father . . . Father is Father. They'd both be tarnished, Father would be fired from his job (he works for the government), and they'd probably be divorced. All that chaos for one boy I hardly know? I'd rather not. But still, I kind of feel sorry for him . . ._

- - -

Mikey Kilpear stared at Paul. It was the first time Paul had shown off his ability, and it was the first time Mikey had thought to ask. Something about coming home from school _not _nursing a bruise or nine had sparked his imagination, he supposed.

Paul had turned into some kind of water-creature-thing, and was currently hanging from the ceiling, his vague face twisted into some kind of smirk.

"Impressed, mister?" Paul asked. Mikey nodded, slightly overwhelmed. Even living in a town inhabited by ghosts, well . . .

"How'd you end up like this, anyway?" Mikey asked.

Paul unstuck himself from the ceiling, cascaded down to the floor, and morphed back into his human form. "I dunno. I'm only eight. Not a scientist, or anything."

Mikey nodded again, still rather agape. "That's . . . cool."

"I know," Paul said. He smiled briefly. "'Course, they never told me that . . . Ms. Zefhel told me I shouldn't do it anymore when I showed her . . ."

"Ms. Zefhel?" Mikey asked the younger boy.

"My therapist." He shrugged. "She told me all sorts of things."

Mikey tilted his head, and didn't ask further. "Did you know Danny Fenton?" he asked suddenly.

Paul looked at him. "The only staff I knew were Mark and Ms. Zefhel, mister," he said.

"Staff? No, he was a . . . prisoner . . ."

Paul's face scrunched up in confusion. "What kinda prisoner has a last name?" he asked.

Mikey stared, and shooed Paul away. I guess he couldn't call Danny 'That Fenton kid' anymore.

He was suddenly very, _very _glad he was normal.

* * *

_A/N: Well, I revealed _something_, and dumped a ten-pound load of angst on your head. Trust me, it won't happen again._


	12. Circle

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Eleven**

One of the many things I learned on the trip to the house of the . . . What was their surname? Right, the Robertas - anyway, one of the many things I learned on the trip to their house was that Toby does not like cars. Namely, the fact that people are usually scrunched together in cars. Apparently none of the vans were available today, and so we were stuck in a badly air-conditioned, not altogether roomy Buick. One that, notably, had tinted windows. Toby was shoved against the right window, trying to avoid as much hip-to-hip contact as possible, Emma was sitting rather thoughtfully in the middle, and I was trying to cool off on the left side.

My tolerance for high temperatures was very low, it always had been. That dislike had only increased after I became half ghost and my average body temperature became somewhere in the low nineties. So the fact that it was around seventy degrees outside, even if it wouldn't be altogether _that _hot to someone _normal_, really bothered me. I was practically gasping for air, but I knew I couldn't roll down the window.

No one had told us how long this trip would be. But if Toby didn't stop squirming, and the air didn't become significantly cooler within the next one to five minutes, I was going to scream.

Emma suddenly turned to me. "I read your case file," she said. "Two weeks after Toby met you. Danny Fenton, fourteen, blood type AB, all that."

". . . Okay," I said, my voice scratchy from dehydration. "So?"

"So, the therapy reports say that you claim to have fully developed powers." Toby, seemingly having abandoned his usual good mood, shot her an exasperated look. Emma ignored him. "But they never made you prove it."

"No," I said. "Should they have?"

"Yes," Emma said simply.

"Well, I guess all the news reports and my fights with the GIW were enough, eh?"

I noticed out of the corner of my the driver glance nervously into the rearview mirror, but he said nothing.

Emma gaped. "You weren't _lying_?" she asked incredulously. Toby snorted, half-annoyed. Again, she completely ignored him. "_And _you used your powers _publicly_? Why weren't you here years sooner?"

"I've only had them a year. Besides, everyone thought I was just some ghost. I tried out the whole 'superhero' thing. Was planning on, you know, going with it for awhile, then they came and dragged me here." At least I remembered that much . . .

Emma still looked at me strangely. "I can hardly use mine. Mom shipped me off to Mt. Ivory the moment she found out." I nodded, having no clue what to say.

"And you know all about my lack of ability," Toby said, finally joining the conversation. "And I'd gladly tell you all about my _regaling _life story - but I'm not in a good enough mood. And I really don't think Danny is all too keen on telling us all about the superheroing life, especially since he has no idea what it was actually like. And . . ." I get the feeling he would've gestured dramatically if that wouldn't have meant bursting his little bubble of personal space. ". . . I don't really want to here any of it either. In other words, shut up." He became invisible, and muttered several profanities. "Today'd been going good for that, too . . ."

Emma giggled, slightly. "Okay, Toby." She leaned against the back of the car seat, and seemed to be staring at me - more prominently, my skin - for a second. Then she stopped and turned back to face the front, once again looking thoughtful. Toby grumbled invisibly. I stared out the window, not that there was much to see, as it was a two-way tint. Guess they didn't want us to have the slightest idea where we were. For all I knew the driver was just driving around pointlessly in circles to throw us off . . .

Circle. _Heat_. Circle. _Discomfort_. Circle. _Complacency_. Circle. _Advertising_. Circle. _Vlad_.

There is no way of knowing how long that drive took. However, in that space of time, be it forty-five minutes or four hours, I managed to think through all the major topics on my agenda (in varying degrees of thoroughness): the heat, my discomfort, this 'complacency compound,' our advertising job, and Vlad. Toby and Emma had advertised to Vlad. It made a heckuva lot of sense, I'll admit. Vlad was a shady billionaire who lived in a creepy castle in the middle of nowhere that no one was ever allowed to visit.

Yeah, it made sense. But it did not bode well. Then of course I realized Vlad would've known about the whole thing anyway thanks my 'the boy who called ghost hybrid' incident.

Which of course brought up the question of how he got out of capture. But I knew Vlad was manipulative, and too cunning for his own good, even if he was a bit of a fruitloop. A lot of a fruitloop. Such a fruitloop that it would probably do him good to be drenched in milk.

Needless to say at this point, Vlad's was the topic I thought over most carefully.

Emma, too, seemed to be thinking about something rather meticulously. She was chewing her blue hair (which could've been _so _much stranger to me), and simply staring into space. But there was a look in her eyes that said her mind was far from blank.

Toby, meanwhile, had become visible about fifteen to thirty minutes after he faded out, and now simply looked uncomfortable, as opposed to not looking at all.

"How long's this gonna take, anyway?" Toby asked suddenly. "I could swear the temperature's gone up at least ten degrees."

"We're almost there," the driver said, speaking for the first time.

Toby huffed, then sighed, and leaned back even further in his seat, trying desperately not to even come close to touching Emma. Which I found odd, given that he had called her 'beautiful' earlier (which was, in my opinion, a very strange thing to say. She wasn't _bad looking_, but she was far from even being called 'pretty.' Matter of opinion, I supposed).

But Toby was . . . Odd. There was probably very little point in actually wondering about any of his quirks.

Then, after a few more minutes of nearly unbearable heat, the car pulled to a stop. "I wouldn't talk," Emma whispered to me, as quietly as she could, it seemed, as the driver pulled out the key. "Or look around. Or anything. We'll take care of this. But if she asks you something . . . Answer."

"Keep in mind you're here to berate yourself," Toby added, and I wasn't even quite sure how he'd heard her speak. "Then you should be just fine."

I nodded, and took one last breath in that oven-on-wheels, and stepped out onto the street, Emma right behind me. "Don't look," she reminded me, and I did my best not to notice anything about the town/city/hamlet/whatever surrounding me. I heard a car door slam somewhere close to us, and the driver ushered us inside.

Toby calmly knocked on the door, his discomfort magically evaporating the moment he was out of the car. The driver seemed to scoot back into the car and disappear in the short time it took for someone to answer the door.

A little girl, maybe ten or eleven, answered. She opened her mouth to greet us, then her eyes widened when she saw Emma and I. "Aunt Max! They're here!"

The distinctive sound of . . . penny loafers? . . . was heard thumping towards us. A vaguely ungainly-looking woman appeared. "I know you have homework, Petra," she said softly, and the girl scurried off to parts unknown.

"Hello," Mrs. Roberta said coolly, "my name's Maxine Roberta, Mrs. Roberta to you."

If I wasn't so utterly terrified, I would've burst out laughing at her use of 'Mrs. Roberta to you.' But let it be said that Mrs. Roberta is nothing if not an intimidating person, even if, in all her wealth, the best thing she could find to wear was a pair of jeans, a university sweatshirt, and worn penny loafers. And she was overweight. More than slightly, less than very.

"My name is Toby, ma'am. This," he said, gesturing to Emma, "is Emma, and Danny." Emma nodded her head politely, and I followed suit. "And we would like to thank you for inviting us so graciously into your home, and allowing us to present our case to you."

Mrs. Roberta shrugged. "Come in, will you? I don't want the neighbors seeing you. My husband's reputation would be ruined."

She gestured Toby in, and we followed. She glared at us the entire time. I kept as much distance between us as possible without looking ridiculous and/or terrified.

I couldn't help but wonder if I'd gone soft after all that time at Mt. Ivory. _No ordinary person should be able to do this to me_, I thought bitterly. Looking at her briefly, I received another jolt of fear - the word 'intimidation' does not usually coincide with 'short and squat.' But there was just something in her glare, something that I couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, it was familiar. Something I'd seen before. It just wasn't coming to me. And whatever that something was, it scared the pants off of me.


	13. Failure

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Twelve**

One day with Mrs. Roberta and her husband (who introduced himself in much the same way. "My name is Drake Roberta, and it would do you well to simply call me Mr. Roberta or _sir_." Although, it was quite obvious who was wearing the pants in their family . . .) was another thing to add onto my extensive list of 'things that would ensure me happiness in the next life.' Which was a _really _redundant list to have, in retrospect, given the whole ghost thing.

Mrs. Roberta always looked angry whenever Toby or Emma talked about the glories of owning your very own personal _freak_. Neither used those exact words, pray tell, and if they had, I would've thrown up, to heck with the Persian carpet - but they said some pretty things that made me come pretty dang close.

I avoided talking. I wasn't sure _why _they had sent _me_ on this insane mission. Even if I'd tried to partake in all this 'advertisement,' my throat would've closed up, and, well, the whole thing would be a bust. For the most part, and I was exceptionally glad about this, Mrs. Roberta ignored me. I tried not to look into her eyes, because that haunting expression, whatever it was, lingered there. I knew I'd seen it somewhere; but I just couldn't quite place it.

Then, around six the evening after we got there, she looked right at me and asked, "Why're you so quiet, kid? I've fed you well enough today -" For the record, we'd all been given a piece of un-toasted day-old bread and half a glass of lukewarm water. "- and let you lot sleep in our guest bedroom -" Which had one double bed. I ended up sleeping on the floor. "- and you've just been sitting here -" She'd 'asked' us to fix dinner for she, Mr. Roberta, and this Petra girl, do the dishes, and clean the bathroom. And how could we refuse, right? "- not even spouting off any of this _crap _that your little friends have." Do I need to alert the general populace that this was shaping up to be a week-long Cinderella story? Without the prince?

But at the time, I was scared rather senseless. "I - uh - well," I sputtered, and Toby stepped in without missing a beat.

"Danny is relatively new to this line of work, ma'am. And he's had a recent illness which has seriously affected his voice - but he insisted on coming, because he really thought he could help spread the word. He's really just as stupid as any of us," he said.

I couldn't help but think he'd make a good lobbyist.

Mrs. Roberta's scowl deepened, and she shot me a glare that made me shrink as far back in my seat as I could, given that I was on the floor. "You shouldn't've done that," she said. "Just gives me more work, freak." I saw Emma visibly wince. Mrs. Roberta tilted her head, slightly, and her eyes narrowed. "What is it you do, anyway? You never said."

"I'm, um, well, half . . ." I paused, and inhaled. "I'm kind of sort of half ghost."

There was a long pause. Mrs. Roberta's eyes widened. "You're the boy from Amity Park! You were on the news, I recognize you now!" Toby raised an eyebrow, amused, and Emma shot me a look that said 'again?'

I hoped and hoped that she'd be like Mrs. Kilpear and drop the act as soon as she found out who I was. No such luck.

"I can't believe you're . . . urg! If it weren't for you and your insane _parents_, Mills wouldn't be so . . . So . . ." She stood up, pointing an accusing finger at me and moving steadily closer.

_Maybe Mrs. Garner chose wrong_, I thought, frozen in terror. _You know, she could kill me now and it wouldn't even matter to anyone . . ._

"YOU RUINED MY HOME!" she screamed. "Look outside!" She stormed over to the window and threw the curtains open, which had been closed for 'privacy reasons.' I leaned in, slightly, to look, to scared to do anything but disobey. Just what I could see was in total disarray. Nothing was smoking, and nothing could really be called destroyed . . . But the streets were dirty, and things just seemed bleak. And it was obviously a pretty upper-class neighborhood, too.

I realized two things right then and there. One, Amity Park hadn't been the only town affected by the ghost invasion. It had spread to other neighboring cities . . . and I hadn't been there. The overwhelming feeling of being a hero came rushing back to me, more powerful than any mind-numbing, memory-killing drug could suppress.

Two, well, I recognized the element that so effectively took over her expression.

It was hate.

And hate, well, I could deal with hate. I remembered, suddenly, what being hated felt like. I'd been hated for so long, by _so many people_ . . . I guess I'd gotten used to the stoic, relatively desolate atmosphere back at Mt. Ivory, and seeing it again horrified me, even if I hadn't recognized it at first.

"How many?" I asked, my voice even, my eyes hardening with my old heroic resolve. I stood up.

She faltered, obviously expecting me to stay curled up on the floor. "Huh?"

"How many cities have been affected, _ma'am_?" I asked, careful to add emphasis on the last syllable, while still keeping out the sarcasm I so desperately wanted to shove in.

"Um . . ." I noticed Toby and Emma, in my peripheral vision, looking decidedly worried.

"About four," she said, slightly meeker than before, but her speech was still laced with malice. "Millsville, Andromeda Springs, Goldview, and Humingburg."

Four cities like this. Four cities practically no longer inhabitable because I was too caught up in my own little world, my own insignificant problems to _notice_. I gasped suddenly, half grateful that my old emotions had returned to me, and half in pure panic mode.

I. Had. Failed. All that work, all that lack of sleep, all those lectures about how I'd never become an astronaut with my grades, all my sacrifices. And I'd still failed. I hadn't been enough to protect everyone. Ghosts - they were my responsibility, they _shouldn't _be anyone else's.

And now, I was here. Standing in the living room of some bigoted middle-aged bat wearing freaking penny loafers.

I started to outright hyperventilate. If what happened next hadn't happened, well, I'm pretty sure I would've flown outside and gotten myself killed.

Guess. I'm pretty sure it's impossible. But what I viewed at the time to be the first step to my redemption came careening through the window at twenty miles and hour and crashed straight into me, pushing me back a couple of feet. The miniature cannonball pulled itself off of me and I stepped back to look.

"I AM THE BOX GHOST! AND I HAVE COME TO YOUR HOME TO WREAK MY DUCT-TAPED FURY UPON YOU -" He paused, only briefly - time enough to see me, apparently, because he finished his usual rant in little more than a squeak. "- while the ghost child has no chance of stopping me?" I felt a distinct tug of misplaced aggression.

My eyes widened significantly, but my breathing slowed. I knew what it was I had to do, and, for once in my life, I was glad to do it. My human form fell nearly instinctively into a relaxed battle stance, the effect much more frightening with my new lack of wimpy-ness and my bizarrely glowing skin.

At this point, Mrs. Roberta had collapsed in a dead faint next to the window, Toby and Emma had backed out of the room entirely, and little Petra, a much braver soul than I gave her credit for, had run down the stairs and was now crouching on the stares to watch.

"Buh-bye, Boxy," I said, smirking. Reaching deep inside of myself to that place only I knew existed, I took a deep breath and pulled it out. A familiar cold sensation washed over me, and that was it. Danny Phantom was back.

The Box Ghost, having become rooted to the spot, a blatant mixture of shock and fear on his face, was an easy target. A well-aimed, precise ectoplasmic energy beam hit him square in the chest, and he was sent flying backwards through the wall. He only barely became intangible in time to not cause some serious property damage. I flew out, unthinking, after him.

Now he'd finally gained some of his usual unwavering stupidity back. "I AM THE BOX GHOST! TREMBLE, PUNY CHILD, FOR I SHALL -"

"Leave me _alone_, already. I can't even go to freaking jail without you annoying me." I immediately reached for the Fenton Thermos, which of course wasn't there.

I sighed. "Just my luck, isn't it?"

The Box Ghost grinned maniacally and levitated a dumpster, preparing to throw it at me. "Like you haven't tried _that _before," I said as I lazily flicked my hand and the 'trash box' was instantly encased in ice and fell to the ground. "Why don't you just give up?"

"I AM THE BOX -" I held out my hand and pinned him to the wall of the house directly behind him with an ice shard.

"- nuisance. Seriously, just _go home_."

BG, who was looking a bit less than hot (less than usual, anyway) smiled nervously. "Beware?" he said.

Another wave of my hand and he flew off to who-knows-where. Wasn't much else I could do at this point, and he _was _just the Box Ghost.

So I transformed, having temporarily suppressed the fact that this wasnot a normal ghost fight, and that, no, my life wasn't going to be returning to 'normal' anytime soon.

Walking back into the Roberta's house, I looked first at Petra, who was looking genuinely impressed, but more than a little wary, then at Mrs. Roberta, who was starting to wake up, and finally at Toby and Emma who had come out of the adjoining for and were staring at me.

"You probably shouldn't have done that," Emma whispered. "The guard probably saw."

"And you've jeopardized this whole pitch," Toby said. "Which means, ultimately, you're screwed. Emma's mom is not a generally agreeable woman."

I bit my lip. "I couldn't do nothing," I said. "Not after I remembered."

Toby's eyes widened, but Emma looked puzzled.

"You didn't," he asked warily. I noticed out of the corner of my eye Petra was 'sneaking' over to check up on her aunt.

"Remembered what?"

Toby shot a concerned glance in her direction, but I ignored him.

"What it was like to live. What my life meant to me before. How to be a hero."


	14. Anniversary

_A/N: Just thought I'd point out I've added chapter titles._

Disclaimer: I do not own _Danny Phantom _or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Thirteen**

Ten minutes later, when, for the second time in my life, I was gagged, shackled, and being dragged off by the GIW after a rather short-lived fight (they'd obviously gotten better while I'd been gone. Either that, or I'd lost my touch), I was not so sure that remembering was the greatest thing in the world.

Toby watched me, a half-smirk, half-sympathetic stare on his face when they shoved me back into that infernal van. _I miss Tucker_, I thought as it started to pull out. He'd gone and nearly got himself killed trying to save me - I almost wish he hadn't been there.

Had he told my parents they'd captured me? If he had, it hadn't made much of a difference. Of course, there was a difference between Mt. Ivory and the Guys in White, it seemed, so the knowledge wouldn't do much.

But I'd been on some strange 'they'll-hate-me-if-they-have-to-worry' mindset at the time; desperation does some strange things. Of course, I hadn't quite figured out at that point that me being gone would cause them worry. But cut me some slack. Basically, my whole life had been shattered and the developing . . .

Whoa! Flashback. Back to the point. The GIW, formerly some of the least competent ghost hunters in the world, neigh, the universe, were dragging me off to who knew where. Was this the final straw, I wondered. Was I finally going to wake up and be dragged off and tortured like I thought I was, way back in the beginning?

The trip was a long one. I struggled fervently against my bonds (a pair of glowing manacles and a pair of shackles) but to no avail. It was just like last time. Once again, I couldn't escape, once again, I was wracked with guilt - though over two completely different things, I'll admit - and once again, I had no idea what was going to be there when they reopened the back of the van.

Although, in retrospect, maybe it was slightly worse. I'd rediscovered my raison d'être, the reason I'd _gone _so many nights without sleep, the reason I'd _let _my grades get swooped down the toilet, and, finally, the reason I would condemn myself to a life of being chased down by the GIW if it meant being able to live it again.

Three months ago, hey, I felt it. It never entered my mind there was the possibility of quitting. But getting nine months' worth of feeling back made me realize just how important it was that I keep doing it; it was a completely overwhelming emotion. I had to escape. How, I didn't know. When, well, I'd try for soon.

But I'd do it. It was what I was here for. And only an idiot would think that I'd been electrocuted in an explosion of dimensional-fabric ripping ectoplasmic energy, an event that was certainly more than a little painful, and given ghost powers, only to end up locked up in a five-star nut house. Or tortured to death by the Guys in White. Whichever.

So when the sunlight came pouring into my dark space, I didn't kick and scream. My ghost powers were shorted out; it would've been pointless. I was going to wait. The people of Amity Park, and Millsville, and Andromeda Springs, and Goldview, and Humingburg, needed me alive. Or as alive as I come.

- - -

"Care to explain, Danny?" Jane asked, peering at me as I sat calmly in the dentist chair they'd strapped me to. "I'm here to listen."

"I remembered my life, Ms. Redd. The Box Ghost attacked - I think I mentioned him in our sessions - and I had do something."

She raised an eyebrow, and chuckled. "You also said in our sessions this Box Ghost is harmless, right?"

"When I'm there."

She stepped back, and looked me over. "And what's this about you remembering your life? Who says you forgot it?"

"Everyone here knows about the fact they've forgotten, you know. No point in trying to keep the facts invisible - that's my job."

"Hmm. You've changed, Danny, since we last met."

"No kidding. I'm glowing, for crying out loud - another side effect of the complacency compound?" At this, she gasped, and held up a hand to her mouth.

"How did you . . .?"

I chuckled, this time, darkly, but didn't say anything. Jane pursed her lips and pulled out a cell phone.

"The evaluation's complete, Mark. He's obviously gone malevolent. I recommend high-security solitary confinement and a much higher dosage of the CC . . . yeah. Of course; don't worry about that."

I felt my eyes widen, all pretenses of coolness washed away. "What - no - you _can't _-"

"Security purposes." I watched her move behind the chair I was strapped to. "Now relax, Danny, this is a tranquilizer; catered entirely to your specific needs. You'll be asleep within seconds . . ." A mild pinch in my arm later and I was out cold.

- - -

I woke up in a dimly lit room, lying on a hard cot that had a clock facing it from the ceiling. Several new puncture wounds made my left arm tender in seven different places, and, attempting to sit up, an extreme soreness became apparent on my right. Pulling up the sleeve slightly on my shirt, I looked. The sight that greeted me was not a happy one.

99325718, my Mt. Ivory prisoner ID, had been neatly tattooed on my forearm. I recalled vaguely lessons on the Holocaust back in junior high. Groaning, I leaned back into a horizontal position and stared at the clock above me. 1:02 AM, 03042005, it read.

_A tattoo? Mom and Dad are going to kill me . . . _I laughed hollowly to myself. So this is what happened to the people who didn't act like good little freaks and just live out their lives 'contentedly.'

I wondered briefly if it would make sense for the good guy to burn this place to the ground . . . At least after everyone was out of the building.

Then it occurred to me that I simply wanted to get away as quickly as possible. So, standing up, I went to inspect the room. A toilet, a sink, and a small shower unit stood in the corner directly opposite from my bed, and that was all. In the dim light I could see the vague outline of a door. Beyond that, there wasn't an opening anywhere, and I was pretty sure that they weren't stupid enough to not ghost-proof the walls and floor.

I walked back over to the bed, I lay down. It was one o'clock in the morning, for crying out loud, and I wasn't exactly feeling perky. So I drifted back to sleep.

- - -

_The horrified look on Tucker's face was enough to tell me that Mom and Dad did not need to see me when they were done with me. _Ever_. The growing bruise on my shoulder would be gone soon enough, probably within a couple of hours, but it still stung. Most of the minor injuries I'd sustained would be gone quickly - they always were, for whatever reason. If they didn't disappear so quickly, my secret would've gotten out a long time ago. But I was fully aware that looked far more torn up than I actually was. _

_Tucker, the (usually) impeccably loyal friend that I could count on - well, at least when some ghost-related whatever didn't cause him to go power mad - was sitting in the dirt, a long gash showing through a rip in his yellow sweater. He looked helpless as they grabbed my arms and started pulling off._

"_Don't tell them, Tuck. I don't want them to worry," I said quietly. He looked up, and bit his lip. "Mom, Dad, Jazz, Sam - they don't need to know. It would tear them up inside, and they wouldn't be able to get me back." He stared at me for a moment, and, just as they clicked the manacles onto my wrists, he nodded. Then I couldn't see him anymore, and I was gone. _

_My reasoning for making him promise something so incredibly stupid? Heh, I knew they'd love me. But I was afraid that if they saw what the risks were for being my parents, they'd keep away out of fear. The GIW could hurt them like they'd hurt Tuck. The ghosts could hurt them. Vlad could hurt them. _I _could hurt them._

And then . . . Well, I woke up. It was strange. That was the first time I'd replayed the time in which they captured me in a dream. I'd re-watched Tiffany Snow's most famous broadcast, seen my parents' faces over and over again, and just generally relived the terror of knowing that this time around there wasn't anything I could do to repair my life. At all.

Seeing it only served as another reminder of what had to be done.

At 6:32 AM, I looked back up at the clock again and stared for a minute before yet another memory resurfaced.

That day, the first I spent in solitary confinement, was the first anniversary of my accident. Ironic how these things turn out.


	15. Melt

_A/N: Sorry this took so long. A huge paper was due Thursday, and I didn't have all that much time. Then, of course, it took some to finish this, so . . . yeah. Enjoy._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Fourteen**

The next day Dr. Jared came to see me. He shuffled in through the door, doing his best to keep it from opening more than half a foot. I sat on my bed, back against the wall, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What're you doing here?" I asked, my voice stuck in echo-mode.

"I'm here to fill you in. Why else? A friendly chat?" he snapped, and walked up to stand in front of me.

_Someone forgot to take their medicine this morning_, I thought. "Maybe to cut me open?" I suggested.

He scowled. "Look - they've let me in here to see you one last time. I just work with the people on the other side of the building. But the HNA agreed that it wouldn't hurt to let me finish up one last bit of research."

"Ah."

"I'm not happy about being cut off from you. You're the most unique case I've ever examined in my life - and you could make my career. Those damn Guys in White . . . But look." He reached into his lab coat's pocket and pulled out a booklet and threw it to me. "This is a ghost on advanced ghost physiology. Written by some nameless GIW agent. I want you to have it."

I looked at him. "Why?" Seriously, why?

He chuckled hollowly. "Because I like you, that's why. You're smart, and you've kept yourself as human as you can. And because I _will _use you to get you to for personal advancement, I owe you something. Might as well be the only thing I can provide, which is better understanding of yourself."

"Which ultimately helps you because _me _understanding me is often a much better understanding than _you _understanding me," I reasoned. "Still, thanks, I think."

"How'd you figure that out?" he asked, curiosity overshadowing his bad mood. "Are you a mind reader, too?"

"I have an arch-nemesis who is overly fond of chess metaphors." And that brief bout of insight, my friends, is all Vlad has ever given me.

He looked at me, and smiled, very lightly. "If I hadn't read all those newspaper articles on you, I'd think you were delusional."

"Are you going to tell me what's going to happen to me or not?" My voice broke and it went back to normal.

He looked at the ground sheepishly, and shoved his hands into his lab coat pocket. "I was actually trying to procrastinate," he admitted. "It's not pleasant . . . I gather you've noticed your voice is changing?"

"No, actually," I said dryly. "I didn't notice a thing."

"Ultimately, you're not going to mutate too much. You're going to lose your double-form capabilities, and that already _amazing _healing power of yours is going to grow ridiculously powerful, and yeah, your voice will be kind of echo-y after it's done changing . . . And I suppose you're going to glow for the rest of your life . . .But really, you're getting off much easier than I thought you would. But . . ."

_Great_, I thought. _If _that's _the good part . . . _I wondered briefly how he knew about the healing thing, but after being submitted to hours of tests, it didn't surprise me he'd figured it out.

I braced myself.

". . . But the GIW have decided that you will make a perfect launch point for a new biological weapon. The number of absolutely deadly diseases squirming around in your human blood is astonishing. And not just human germs, either. Ghost ones. The spreading ghost infestation not only _can _be stopped, but _will _be."

I exhaled. I hadn't been aware that I was holding my breath. It didn't sound so bad if all they were going to do was stop the ghosts, but . . . "What about the human ones? What are they going to do with those?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "That's a whole different part of the government."

"And what about me?"

He smiled weakly. "You? You're going to die." He looked at me sympathetically for a moment, then moved on. "I ought to revise one of my earlier statements - I wanted to use your for personal gain. But honestly, even if I still did, there's no way I'm ever going to get within twenty feet of you again." With that, he left, and I fingered the book in my hand without looking at it. He was right; I never saw him again after that.

"Well," I said to no one, "life sucks and then you die, I guess." I swallowed. Who knew? Maybe I'd get out long before they decided it was time to kill me. Maybe they were coming for me as I sat there. But it honestly didn't bother me that theythought I was going to end up dead. That wasn't going to happen. What bothered me was what they wanted me for. I was past the point of being a scientific curiosity; they knew enough about me, and had found a use for me.

They happened to want me for a weapon. So much for keeping me here for the good of the public.

I never did find out what happened to Dr. Jared, or if anything did at all. But I was glad he told me. That way, I'd be prepared.

"I never did anything," I muttered, "other than push a button." I curled up into a ball, and stared at the wall across from my bed. I considered reading, but then I realized it was too dark in here for that. Then a thought occurred to me, and I rolled over, pulling the book out from underneath my back.

I held out my hand to the cover, and was disappointed to find my 'natural' glow was not strong enough. So I sighed and forced power to my hand, hovering it over the book. _Spectral Physiology _was the rather plain title, and underneath, in place of an author's name, was simply GOVERNMENT ISSUE written in plain text. "Looks interesting," I mused dryly. "They really know how to sell 'em."

Flipping to the first actual page, I started to read. 'I: Basic Properties of Ectoplasm.'

"This is so what I'm getting Jazz for her birthday next year." I laughed darkly, and settled in for the day.

- - -

After spending several hours learning about the physical aspects of how ghosts become intangible, and why I should never, ever eat lemon meringue pie, ever, I was done with the book and officially bored. It was true I then knew way more about myself than I ever wanted to know, and had an awful lot to think about, but I was still bored. In those few months I had been thinking a lot. I was rather sick of it.

Sleep wasn't my favorite option, either. It was, according to my clock, seven in the evening, and I wasn't very tired.

So what did I end up doing? I froze the freaking floor. Then I froze the walls, and then the ceiling. All from the comfort and relative safety of my bed. I kept the corner in which my toilet and shower sat ice-free, but everywhere else became a three-dimensional ice-skating rink. It astounded me later on that I was able to create and control that much ice in human form, but at the time, I thought nothing of it. It was simply a way to relieve the boredom.

I eventually got around to creating tiny ice stalagmites all over the place. I had the absurd thought that if the GIW came in here they'd all slip and fall, and I'd run out.

At eight o'clock I'd run entirely out of things to do, and just forced myself to sleep.

Then, I woke up at eight thirty to a steady and extremely prevalent _drip_, _drip_, _drip_.

The ice was melting.

"Crud," I sighed as I opened my eyes. I'd forgotten: ice doesn't usually stay ice for very long. I sat up, and looked around. Most was still frozen, but there was a layer of water on the floor, it was running down the walls, and the ceiling was dripping. I scowled. _This is why you should _always _leave some form of entertainment if you're going to coop up the ex-super hero with cryokinesis. _

Deciding evaporation was probably the best course of action, I blasted the ice with a ghost ray. It only took a few minutes to evaporate it all, but there was still a prevailing wetness everywhere. Sighing, I lay back down. There was still how I was going to spend tomorrow to think about.


	16. Possibility

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Fifteen**

- - -

_Several long, excruciatingly boring hours later . . ._

- - -

"You're not serious!" I exclaimed.

I think, if I'd had a journal, the entry for that day would have been something like 'March 6, 2005. My decidedly psycho therapist decided that, despite the fact that they want to kill me, I still need mental help. Apparently I'm just that unstable.' Meh. She just wanted me to give in. Although she did seem to just want to help me. Who knows?

Jane smiled sincerely, and more than a little sadly. How did she _lock me up_, claiming it was for security purposes, and then go in there and have the nerve to care? "Of course, Danny. Mental stability in a time like this is crucial to maintaining your happiness."

"Yes, because, you know, self-worth, freedom, social companionship, and all that have absolutely nothing to do with being happy," I replied sarcastically.

"You can maintain self-worth, at the very least," Ms. Redd said. "But some things aren't an option. You're too dangerous to exist on the outside world, you proved that two days ago. And you gave up social companionship when you decided to snoop in things that were none of your business."

I sighed. "Did I ever tell you about my future?" I asked solemnly. Jane raised an eyebrow.

"Your future?"

"Well, what would've been my future, at any rate," I said. "The reason my greatest fear is becoming evil? Heh, in the future I prevented, I destroyed the world. But I stopped it."

"You . . . destroyed the world?" she asked, hesitant. "And you stopped it?"

"I have friends in high places," I said. "An - ally, I guess is the word - is the lord and master of time. Apparently the existence of evil me messed with the time stream, so he stopped my family from dying. But that's a long and complicated story."

She seemed a bit overwhelmed for a moment, and then she scribbled something on that stupid clipboard she seemed to carry around everywhere. "What's the point in telling me this?" she asked after a bit.

"The point? I know I'm dangerous. I know I _could _kill everyone . . . But . . ." Looking back, I think my stay at Mt. Ivory allowed me much too much time to think. "I've _seen _what could happen if I let myself become like that. I'm not the most intelligent person on the planet, I'll admit, but I'm not stupid enough to repeat my mistakes."

Jane smiled again, and met my eyes. "You are the first person I've worked with that hasn't either given up or become malevolent -"

"You said I did," I interrupted.

"Yes, well, that's the standard claim. But anyway, you're the first person who hasn't just let go. I'm impressed. But you do know that you're _not _getting out of this, right?"

"You're going to kill me," I said simply.

"How did you -" she began, but then stopped, and sighed. "Honesty, I don't care anymore. I think they're stupid for keeping this stuff up now that the Cold War has ended but . . . I just work here."

"The Cold War, huh? I thought it was only the Soviets," I said. "But I guess they knew when to quit . . ."

She smiled again. "The purpose of Mt. Ivory has changed over the years . . . Slightly. It is mostly just containment . . . But you were too good an opportunity to pass up. The ghost invasion in your hometown is completely uncontrollable . . ."

"So, even the Guys in White can't handle it?" I said, laughing, only slightly. "I took care of it for nine months. I've only been gone _three_, and everything's in chaos. So you decide to put thousands of innocent people at risk. Wow."

Jane leaned on the wall next to my cot. "You're observant, aren't you?" she asked.

I shrugged. "You already knew that," I replied. "But really, I've just had a lot of time to think."

"Ah," she said, and wrote something else down.

Looking at her, I asked, "Now. Could you please explain why the heck you tattooed my prisoner number on my arm?" I lifted up the sleeve of my shirt to give example.

"Again, standard procedure," she said, wincing slightly. "But enough of this. We still have forty-five minutes left, and I'd like to use these sessions for something other than _this_."

"I don't have anything to say other than '_this_,'" I countered, using air quotes when I got to the last word. "I've told you my entire life's story already. How I feel about my situation right now is pretty dang obvious . . . And, oh, right. I'm not a little bundle of teen angst."

She looked up to the ceiling. "Why don't you tell me something happy." I gave her a disbelieving look. "C'mon! It'll be good for you," she coaxed. "It might even make you feel better."

"Ri-ight. Happy is in short supply right now."

Jane rubbed her temples. "From your past. Surely you have a good memory from your past if you're so keen on getting back."

I inhaled. "My past _is _a good memory. Bad stuff's happened, sure, but all in all . . . Lady, I'm no good at opening up about this sort of thing. My whole existence for the past year has been about not doing exactly that."

She stared at me. "You always seemed open in our sessions before . . ." she started, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "Danny, did you feel, I don't know, _pushed _to tell me things when I first interviewed you?" she asked.

Scrunching up my brow in concentration, I tried to remember. "Yeah, kind of. I sort of thought things might be better for me if I just went ahead and told you . . ."

"And when we talked later?" I looked at her questioningly, and then shrugged.

"I never really saw any point in _not _telling you stuff. For awhile I guess I just thought there was no hope of getting out, so -"

"And, now?" she said, interrupting. "You told me about your future, but you're having trouble with just telling me a happy memory from your past. And you only told me about your future to make a point. And you said you got your memory back, and you've obviously managed to get back your ability to resist . . . I think . . ."

I banged my head against the wall. "No. More. Revelations," I said, punctuating every word. "I found out yesterday I'm the perfect tool for building the ultimate weapon, before that I realized I'd forgotten all of my emotions about my past, before that I found out I wasn't human. I don't need to be any more special and/or miserable than I already am."

She appeared as if she wanted to slap me. "No! You don't get it! _No _one here is completely human, Danny - _no _one. That's how we can keep you here legally, even if you haven't done a thing. We determine who is less human than the others based on the _number _of excessive DNA strands. The reason the complacency compound only works on the patients - it's pumped into the air, the food, _everything _- and not the staff is because it keys into the existence of those strands. The people you worked with in advertising just had slight immunity."

"So what are you saying?" I asked, impatient.

"Danny . . . In that one day you were away from Mt. Ivory, you became completely impervious to the effects. One day. I don't know why I didn't figure it out before, because it's so blaringly obvious; especially when you haven't had a blood test since you came back in . . ."

"Get on with it!" I said loudly. This was working itself up to be the only good news I'd had since going there in the first place.

"You're human. Completely," she finished. I opened my mouth, and she held up a hand. "You'd need a DNA examination to prove it . . . But . . ." She grinned, from ear to ear. "You'd have to be let out, albeit under heavy watch. Article XI of The Metahumans Act, ratified at the end of the Cold War, when people weren't being taken here merely for the purpose of weapons creation anymore."

"How do you _know _all of this?" I asked, joy starting to creep up on me.

"I used to want to be a lawyer," she said smugly. "I couldn't pay for law school, though, so here I am."

"So . . . If I'm actually human, they can't keep me here, anymore?" I said, the semblance of a genuine smile beginning to show on my face.

"No. Because you're still classified as dangerous - level nine threat level - you'd be under extremely strict government surveillance . . . But yes, you'd be nearly completely free to live your life."

I placed a hand on my head, starting to feel dizzy. "That's not possible . . ." I said, although happily. I might be human after all. I might not be a piece of property. I might get to go home . . . legally.

"I memorized the entire law," she said. "Of course it's possible. But we still have to get you checked out, to be sure . . . It's really just a theory. Don't get your hopes up."

I looked down at myself. My wrinkled clothes from two days ago hung loosely on my frame. _Dr. Jared might've been wrong_, I thought. I held up my hand and looked at it. A soft glow still radiated from it, though it wasn't nearly as obvious as before. My voice hadn't cracked and gone echo-y during my entire conversation with Ms. Redd. All of this had happened in two days. How it was possible to change species overnight was a bit of a baffler, but when it came to my life, anything was worth consideration.

Right as I was starting to just the opposite of what Ms. Redd told me to do - get my hopes up - there was a knock at the door, and two burly GIW agents entered.

"Dr. Redd? I'm afraid we're going to have to cut your session with 99325718 short," started one. The other turned to me, his expression cold and emotionless.

"Kid, we'll need you to come with us."


	17. Smile

_A/N: Ha! Broken upload system, I PWN you! -hopes that the format won't mess up- Ahem. Sorry this took so long. Real life again. Finals coming up and everything._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Sixteen**

I was never an overly intelligent person. Even my two best friends perpetually called me 'clueless.' I got slightly more observant after the accident, but I still maintained a 'C' average and always missed the most obvious things (Bert Rand and M. Bersback come to mind). I mostly relied on Sam, Tucker, and Jazz to notice stuff for me, and even then, there were times when I refused to listen.

So I was extremely lucky when I realized that a.) I could either run or let them take me, and that b.) if I ran away and they caught me, it wouldn't matter a bit whether or not I was human. Of course, if I got away, I'd be hunted for the rest of my life, and it probably wouldn't take them very long to capture me again. But if I didn't, I might not get a chance.

Yeah. It was a bit of a hopeless case. The still-slightly-sore tattoo on my right arm was proof of that.

"Agent? Could I speak to you for a moment?" Jane asked suddenly. The man who'd told me to come, and had engaged in a staring contest with me for about thirty seconds, looked up abruptly. He smiled politely.

"Of course, Dr. Redd," he replied brusquely, and walked over to a corner of my room with Jane.

I sighed in relief for a moment, then I noticed the other agent watching me warily. I raised an eyebrow and pulled myself up into the corner, wrapping my hands around my knees. I watched him with equal vigilance, which seemed to unnerve him slightly.

"You don't have to kill me," I said quietly. He jumped.

"Who -?" he started, then shook his head, and went back to observing me, now significantly more nervously.

At this point Jane and the other man walked back over, and Jane looked at me, almost apologetically. "Danny, go with M and C -" She wore a very meaningful expression. "- I'm sorry we couldn't talk longer, but these things come up."

I nodded, gulped, and stood up. I randomly assigned the two Guys letters, having no idea which was which. The slightly more nervous one was M, and the one Jane had talked to was C. _Curly and Moe_, I thought with some pleasure.

C grabbed me by the arms, handcuffing them behind my back, and I turned my head to look at Jane disdainfully. I had trust her, I figured, although it was very possible this was betrayal. She shrugged. _Just go_, she mouthed.

They led me out of the room, and I sighed internally.

"You know, this kind of thing would usually be grunt work," M began. "But you, kid, need top security. Two fully qualified AZ level agents, power disabling handcuffs, all that. Consider it an honor."

I just shrugged, concentrating on the hallway in front of me. This was a bit of a gamble. It only made matters worse that it wasn't _my _life I was gambling with - it was so ruined that I was far beyond that - but that of the people I had to get out to protect. Jazz would be psychoanalyzing me for weeks after I told her that, I knew.

Door after impenetrable door passed us by. My mind began to fill with worry, but I tried my hardest to keep my face blank in front of these goons. C's firm grip on my shoulder never lessened, and M seemed to have attached himself to my arm. And it was easy enough to _feel _that my powers were short-circuited for now. I was truly completely at their mercy . . . All the more reason to fear Jane's betrayal.

Why had I trusted her? She'd been a good _listener_, but then again, so is a police interrogator. She'd locked me up once already, to save her own skin. Still . . . she'd always seemed to care. Kind of. And she'd always told me tidbits of information where other people failed. Again, kind of.

I came to the decision that it was too late now, and that, if I had trusted her for no reason, I had just been stupid as per the usual. I realized with a jolt that if I died I might just become a ghost, and then this would go on forever and ever and ever and . . .

You get the point.

That would not be pleasant. I suppose 'wanted: dead or alive' takes on a whole new meaning with me.

Eventually, C and M shoved me through one of the very few unmarked doors I'd seen. I swallowed nervously when I saw another lab, not nearly as cozy as Dr. Jared's sterile doctor's office of a room. The same sort of strap-down chair sat in one corner of the room, several beakers with decidedly creepy contents - who knew what this place was used for on 'normal' occasions - lined the walls, and everything reeked of ammonia and ozone.

"Sit," C said, gesturing the chair. "Dr. Kowalski will be here soon."

I uneasily walked over to and slid into the chair in the corner. They two men watched me, C simply vigilantly, M, more cautiously.

I slid back, rather uncomfortably, given that my hands were cuffed behind my back. I half expected to be bound to the thing right then and there, but nothing of the sort happened. _Stupid_, I reprimanded myself. _You shoulda run away, Fenton. Now you have no chance _at all _with these stupid cuffs on . . ._

Puny Danny Fenton couldn't . . . oh. That's right. I wasn't 'puny Danny Fenton' anymore, was I? It was true that a bit more physical prowess wouldn't help me in the slightest against a fleet of trained GIW agents, but it still made me feel better to know that I was not in the same shape I was when I nearly failed the Presidential Fitness Test. Sam would be proud.

"He's here?" I heard a voice from the doorway. I cocked my head and looked.

"Dr. Kowalski . . ." one of the two agents began, and then lowered his voice so I couldn't hear. Dr. Kowalski looked over at me, and I looked back, unimpressed. He had a rather blatant unibrow, and his face was ridiculously sallow. He didn't manage to achieve Dr. Jared's original stolidity, either, or Mrs. Roberta's hateful glare. He was completely unremarkable, from what I could see. But you never know.

After about forty seconds of conversation, he walked over to me. "Hello," he said.

"Hi," I greeted.

"I hear you might be up for probation," he said, kneeling in front of me. I raised an eyebrow. So Jane _did _tell C about that . . .

"I guess," I replied, shrugging.

"We're going to need to take some blood samples, 'kay?" he said.

"All right. You don't need to talk to me like I'm six, _'kay_?" I said, putting on the same condescending tone he'd been using on me.

He scowled, and straightened himself up. "Fine. Just hold out your arm."

"Handcuffs?" I said, pointing out the obvious. He nodded, and I twisted around. One of the two GIW agents - I think it was M - walked up and took them off before walking back over to continue guarding the door.

He produced a syringe from within his lab coat, and I extended my arm without hesitation. For once, there actually something in it for me. No circular logic involved.

Dr. Kowalski stuck the needle into my upper arm, and I winced only slightly as it went in. I watched him pull it back out and then I leaned back, not bothering to watch him do the actual examination. That kind of thing - particularly after being at Mt. Ivory for so long - did not interest me in the slightest. And I assumed it would take awhile.

I was wrong. It only took twenty minutes before Kowalski walked back across the room, giving me strange looks. He muttered something to the two GIW agents, who were faithfully guarding the door, and they nearly jumped back in surprise. I watched the processions in what was partly amusement, and partly nervous anticipation.

He eventually walked back over to me, leaning over me, a hand on the arm of the chair. "You're useless," he hissed, hysteria evident in your voice. "No less than _twelve _extremely dangerous diseases - both human and ghost - had developed in your blood, kid. They're all gone."

"Am I human, then?" I asked, not at all intimidated.

Kowalski inhaled, backing up. "Yes," he breathed, beginning to calm down. "It's remarkable. And you still have your powers, for whatever reason."

I looked at him, barely holding back a grin. "What, exactly, were you saying about probation, Doctor?"

"Take your complaint up with the HNA," he said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. He had regained his composure. "This doesn't concern me anymore."

C and M, both looking slightly disheveled, walked over to escort me back to my cell. Neither said a word as they shoved me roughly through the door.

I turned around and looked at the thing, then started laughing. _I was human_. They didn't own me anymore; they couldn't. They no longer had any reason to kill me. Vlad couldn't get at me. And, on top of it all, I still had my ghost powers. I could still go back and fix everything.

I stopped laughing after what must've been at least five minutes, and started jumping around the place, a steady chant of "Yes, yes, yes," finding its way out of my throat.

It was the happiest moment of my life. And why wouldn't it be? In thirty minutes, nearly every bit of self-doubt had evaporated from my mind. I was human. I wasn't normal, but I was human. I wasn't anybody's property. My parents loved me. And there was a very large possibility that I was going home.

Now all I had to was apply with the Head of Nonhuman Affairs for a probation. The next time Jane showed up - and I knew she would - I'd ask her about that.

I'd lost just about three months of my life. Three long, long months. I knew better than anyone that I'd never be the same again. My life, certainly, would never be the same again.

I stopped my chanting and sat back down on my bed, finally wondering about the implications of returning to Amity Park. People knew my secret. They'd want to ask me so many questions, and I wouldn't have the time. I'd be flying around five different cities, trying to repair the damage that'd been done in my absence, and, if I was extremely unlucky, I'd have school to keep up with, too.

Was there any hope of my becoming an astronaut, or even going to college? I leaned back against the wall, and chuckled to myself. Probably not. I would need to repeat the year I missed so much of, and there was no way I'd be able to keep my grades high enough to be accepted into the majority of them. And the space program probably wouldn't even so much as look at me.

I guess the thing that changed most about me in those three months was that I had lost a lot of my original naiveté about what the possibilities for my future were.

And, honestly? I was actually fine with that. I understood, now, that I didn't have a choice in the matter. It was me or nobody. The Guys in White wouldn't handle it; I'd seen that. Valerie and my parents couldn't handle it alone.

Ghost hunting was the life I'd given myself up to. And, as I said before, it wasn't my life anymore. I would've liked it to be; but it simply wasn't and that was that. I'd have to live for the small things.

Remembering my newfound status as a member of the human race, I smiled again.

The not-so-small things helped, too.


	18. Goodbye

_A/N: I just saw Phantom Planet. I think, at some point, every author in the DP section of FFN is going to be saying that. In a word: it rocked. Also? Over two hundred thirty reviews? I think I might have a heart attack._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this. And because I've forgotten to say this before . . . I don't own any of the Beatles lyrics I've used in this story, nor am I making any money off of their useage.

**Chapter Seventeen**

I didn't manage to go to sleep that night. My head was buzzing, and I couldn't wipe the grin off of my face. So I just stared at the clock above my bed, watching it switch from 03062005 to 03072005.

I figured Jane would come around ten in the morning, or something. I could get her to take me to the HNA, and . . . that would be that. I'd go home. Goodbye Mt. Ivory.

Then . . . At 9:00AM on the dot, I heard a loud rapping on the door. I jumped up immediately, my eyes widening.

It opened, and a brusque woman walked in. I instantly recognized her - she was the Head of Nonhuman Affairs, the very person I had needed Jane to take me to. About four GIW agents stood behind her, and I backed up slightly, unsure.

"You're applying for a probation, correct?" she said, dropped a briefcase on the ground in front of me.

I nodded. "Um . . . yeah."

"Dr. Thomas Kowalski has confirmed to me your biological status, and your therapist has confirmed your mental stability . . ." she continued, barely acknowledging that I'd spoken. "However, before we can send you back, we must restore several things. Name, social security number, and whatnot."

"Okay."

She reached down and pulled out several papers and a pen, and handed them to me. "Fill this out."

I took them, and looked down. It was full of relatively basic things, and didn't take me long to fill out.

I handed them back to the HNA. "The rules will be explained to you by Dr. Jane Redd. You will complete one more session with her, and returned to the address you listed on your form tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," I said, kind of in awe at the simplicity of the process. Weren't these things supposed to be long and bureaucratic? "I mean, yes. Thanks."

She looked at me. "It's the law. Nothing to get gushy over, Mr. Fenton." She leaned in. "I just happen to have a son in Amity." With that, she walked out, and the GIW guard behind her followed. I blinked for a second, and then realized with a great deal of satisfaction that she'd called me by my last name. Which meant, of course, that once again I had one. _Surnames_, I thought, _freaking rock_.

I sighed happily and glanced up at the clock. All of that had taken only fifteen minutes. Jane would be there in forty-five, and I was sure that all would be well.

- - -

The rules, too, were surprisingly straightforward and not nearly as restricting as they might've been. No endangering normal people, no attending political functions (my nonexistent dreams of attending the State of the Union were dashed), no criminal activity, blah blah blah. Jane read them to me in this über-important legal voice, explained them, and then broke into tears.

"I'm so happy for you," she had cried, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I just wish I hadn't let you walk out two months ago . . ."

I smiled awkwardly, and patted her hand. I didn't particularly want to tell her I had disliked our sessions.

After maybe five minutes, she straightened herself up, wiped her eyes, and looked at me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm your therapist and, well, I was violating protocol."

"Protocol doesn't mean much in a place like this," I said. It honestly didn't matter to me. Jazz would freak, sure, but I'm not her. "I'm just glad I had someone who didn't hate my guts, well, there was Toby, but . . ."

Ms. Redd, of course, had no idea who Toby was, and just nodded. "Good luck," she said. "It's not going to be easy, you know that, don't you?"

I smiled. "Of course I do. Look," I said, "go. It's nearly eleven, and I'm sure you have someone to talk to."

She nodded, smiled, and patted me on the shoulder again. "I've got to do better about protocol," were her parting words. I never saw her again. I didn't hope to. Jane was nice enough, and she'd given me more information than she probably should've, but she'd also made me feel terrible about myself on more than one occasion. All the same . . . I had to thank her. If she hadn't intervened, I'd probably be dead.

So. All that was left was to go home and face the music. I didn't imagine I'd sleep much that night.

- - -

I didn't. I was glad of this fact when, at six in the morning, a man in a tell-tale white suit burst in through the door. I sat up, immediately wary. Nothing, it seemed, had gone wrong thus far, so I reasoned something had to eventually.

"Daniel . . . Fenton?" he asked, hesitating on my last name.

"Yeah?" I said, sliding off the bed.

"I believe you are scheduled to be transported to Amity Park, Illinois at this time."

"Um . . . yeah," I confirmed. "I'm pretty sure."

"Follow me."

He began to walk out the door, and I slowly followed.

"I'm Agent 480, numerical level, obviously, of the Guys in White," he began as we walked through the hallways. I nodded, having no clue what he meant by numerical level. It didn't really matter.

"And I'm Danny Fenton, ex-prisoner of this hellhole. No handcuffs? Seriously?"

"You're not a prisoner anymore," 480 responded, shrugging.

"Mm. That's a nice thing to know."

We entered the elevator in silence. It barely registered with me that we were going back down to level two.

480 guided me through the portion of the building I had spent the majority of my time at Mt. Ivory living in. I recognized the hall leading back to the apartments, and saw the door to the gym. I wondered briefly if Toby was there then.

We passed by the HNA's office, and finally we came to a place I hadn't paid much attention to the first time I saw it. The entrance. Or, hoorah hoorah, the exit.

I felt a smile tugging at my lips and didn't try to fight it as 480 shoved me through. I breathed in deeply, a feeling of calmness overtaking me. I was out, dang it, I was out.

"Car's this way," 480 said. I hadn't quite noticed we were standing in a parking lot. "It's one of the white sedans."

We neared the car. "Nondescript," I commented when I saw it. And it was; it was just a simple white car. There were dozens like it in the parking lot. I wasn't sure how he knew which one was his.

"It's supposed to be. Get in." He held open the door to the passenger seat. I slid in, pulled my seatbelt over my chest, and watched him walk around and get in the driver's side. "Enjoy the ride," he said dully, and I smiled. I was sure I would.

Despite the fact that I knew it wouldn't be all peaches-and-cream once I got back, I couldn't help but only keep the happy thoughts running through my head. _Home_. I'd talked to Mom and Dad; I knew they still loved me. At the very least they, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker would be happy to see me. Of course there was Valerie . . .

Erk. Valerie. That was one of the depressing thoughts that I did my best to ignore. She could end up being a small problem (she hates me), or a large problem (she hates me and wants me dead). There was the small probability she would forgive me, also, but I didn't let my thought process go far enough to reach that point.

If there was one thing I'd learned from my stint at MI - avoid the negative things and you end up feeling better.

So I kept myself focused on the fact that I was going back to Amity, and that I would be able to set things right at last.

It was, in fact, a freaking long drive (about five hours, by my estimate - we got there at about eleven thirty, and I woke up at six, so . . . is that math right?), and it became relatively difficult to keep thinking happy as I began to see the city in the distance.

Who could blame my worry? I'd been gone for three months, and who knew what had happened in that time . . .

Finally, we pulled up over one last hill, and I got a decent look. The place certainly lacked its old luster. The streets were dingy, and more than one building looked like it had been through a low-level tornado. I could've sworn I saw Valerie, on her hover board, flying after some ghost. Or ghosts. But it was hard to tell, and, on top of that, I knew that it would only be a couple more minutes until FentonWorks would come into view.

As Toby would probably say . . . here comes the sun.

* * *

_A/N: Before anyone asks:_

_- Yes, I will solve the mystery that is Toby._

_- Yes, I know everything went by just _too _smoothly. Don't worry. There'll be an explanation._


	19. Reunion

_A/N: How did the word count change that drastically? My file says 1907, this one says 1703. Weird._

Disclaimer: I do not own _Danny Phantom _or any characters or plots associated with it, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Despite how happy I was to see our gigantic neon sign again, I was freaking nervous. As far as they were concerned, I'd simply run away, promised never to come home, and called them once a month to remind them of the same thing. Even if they still loved me (and, as the time of reckoning drew closer, that became a larger and larger _if_), they probably weren't too happy with me. _I guess I'll have to rely on Jazz . . . _I thought, then realized that it was eleven thirty in the morning, and she'd be at school. Unless it was a Saturday . . . What day of the week was it, anyway?

My thoughts became extremely jumbled, a strange mixture of relief and fright overtaking me. It occurred to me once that even if they didn't like me much anymore, I'd be so busy with ghost fighting I wouldn't have to deal with them much after this initial encounter, anyway. But only briefly. And it wasn't the most reassuring thought, anyway.

Finally, 480 stopped the car. He leaned over me and fished in the glove compartment for something, pulled out what looked to be a book, and got out, gesturing for me to do the same.

I slid out of the front seat, and immediately felt my legs start to quiver beneath me. By sheer force of will, I stilled them, and walked over to stand next to 480. _I guess if they kill me I'll have a government witness_, I thought sourly. _Not that I have much faith left in the government, anyway. _I then mentally slapped myself. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts . . .

480 walked up to the door, and I followed, keeping about a foot between us. He rang the doorbell. I half hoped they wouldn't answer, and that I'd be left here to deal with them on my own time.

No such luck. It wasn't long before I heard my father's heavy footsteps, and he opened the door, a dull expression on his face.

"Yes?" he said. "You need something?"

480 reached into his jacket, and pulled out something I couldn't quite see from my spot directly behind him, presumably a badge. I wondered why Dad hadn't noticed me yet, then I remembered: he was never the most observant man on the planet.

"I am Agent 480 of the Guys in White . . ."

"Guys in White? Did you . . .?" Dad started, and I sighed. Here goes.

"Dad?" I stepped out from behind 480. Dad's eyes widened, and I forced myself not to become invisible and run for it.

"Danny? Danny, is that really . . ." But he never finished, and I was caught up in a bone-crushing hug before I really knew what was happening. I returned the embrace after I recovered from the shock.

After several minutes of this, Dad straightened up. "Danny . . ." he started, another sentence never to be finished. "_Maddie_! It's Danny!" He turned away briefly to shout this, and 480 looked at me. I smiled.

Mom, of course, was at the door in record time. "Danny, Danny, Danny . . ." she knelt down and gave me the same kind of bear hug Dad had give me. "I'm so glad . . . we didn't think . . . you said . . ."

"I know." She let go after a shorter period of time then Dad.

"The first time a cop brings you home and . . . What were you _doing_?" She straightened up and looked at 480. "What was my son _doing_? Where did you find him?"

"Actually, ma'am, I'm with the GIW. I believe Danny will explain things to you . . . but I have to go." He turned to leave, obviously uncomfortable with my parents' show of emotion.

"Wait! If you're with the Guys in White, why did you bring him back? Not that I'm not grateful, but . . ."

480 looked at her. "Your son will explain everything to you. I'm in a bit of a hurry, ma'am, please." With that, he quickly scrambled back to his sedan, and drove off.

Mom and Dad turned back to me. "Danny . . ." Dad said.

"I'm back Dad, don't worry. And I _will _tell you everything . . . but first . . . what day of the week is it?"

Both of them gave me odd looks. "It's Sunday," Mom informed me. "Danny, come inside . . ."

It felt weird to be invited into my own house, but I followed without question. I inhaled the familiar scent gratefully. "Oh . . ." I sighed happily. "It's so good to be back . . . Where's Jazz?"

"She's out shopping. Do you want me to call her?"

"Go ahead," I said, smiling gratefully. Mom leaned over and kissed me on the head before running off into the kitchen. Dad pulled me over to me.

"I . . . Danny," he said. "Why'd you go?"

"Trust me, I didn't want to," I said. "I'll tell you everything when Jazz gets here, okay?"

Dad nodded reluctantly, and motioned to the living room. I walked over to the couch, and he stayed right behind me.

We waited there for a few minutes before Mom walked into the room, almost in a daze. "She's coming," she said, a few stray tears falling down her face. It wasn't all that long before I was being hugged again, by both parents.

"Do you have _any _idea how much we've missed you?" Mom asked. "You just _disappeared_, and after we found out you were the ghost boy, and now you're being brought home by the GIW . . ."

"I really didn't want to go, Mom, and as I told Dad, I'll tell you when Jazz gets here . . . I only want to tell the story once. Actually, do you think I could call Sam and Tucker?"

Mom blinked, and both parents pulled back. "Of course, s-sweetie," she said, smiling at me.

I got up to go into the kitchen, and acted like I didn't notice that both of them were following me. I knew they didn't want me to 'run off' again. I didn't blame them. I'd been gone for three months, after all.

I picked up the phone, still in the same spot as always, and dialed Tucker's number. I figured I owed it to him to call him first. It rang only two times before being picked up.

"Hello?" came Tucker's voice, completely lacking his old energy.

"Tucker?" I said, and there was a long pause.

"Man? Is that you?" Tucker finally asked. "Really?"

"Yeah, Tuck, it's me. Could you come over to . . . my parents' house? I, well, just kinda got back, and I'd like to tell you guys what happened . . ." There was another pause, and then I realized Tucker was crying.

"Danny . . . Yeah, sure, I'll be right over. Dude . . ." The line went dead. I sighed. I knew he only lived a block away, and that he was probably in some sort of daze. I dialed Sam's number. This time I had to wait for five rings.

"Yeah? Which one of the Fentons is this? Did Danny call again?"

"You might say that," I said, and chuckled. "It's me, Sam."

"Danny? Is that . . . Really, you know, you? Where have you been, for Pete's sake?" There was a definite hitch in her voice.

"I'll tell you when you get here. Just come over."

"Don't ever leave me again, Danny," she said softly.

"I won't. I swear."

"See you in a few."

"Right." She hung up, and I sighed, sliding down to the kitchen floor. They were all coming. I'd see them all again, tell them my story, and then get to work. Thinking about that made me smile. I'd finally get to make up for failing so _miserably _before. Actually, thinking at all made me happy. Then something occurred to me.

I got up and walked back into the living room, where my parents had slinked back to after I'd called Sam.

"Why aren't you two out ghost hunting?" I asked them. "The town's a wreck."

"The Red Huntress offered to give us the day off. We've been wearing ourselves thin ever since . . ." Mom said, giving me a meaningful look, and wiped one of her eyes. "I hear Jazz's car . . ."

And sure enough, Jazz soon came bounding in, Tucker on her heels.

"Danny!" both of them yelled at the same time, nearly tackling me. Jazz latched onto me so tightly that I could hardly breathe.

"Jazz . . . need . . . oxygen . . ." I rasped. She let go, and stared at me, teary-eyed. Tucker reached out to help me up, and I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't holding his PDA. I shrugged it off.

After all three of us were standing again, Tucker swallowed. "We thought you were dead," he said.

Jazz turned to him, while still looking at me. "No, _you _thought he was dead," Jazz clarified, wiping her nose. Tucker smiled at her.

"And _you _went on a crazy media-hating spree." Tucker looked at her for a minute, then looked at me, and I finally got bombarded with another hug.

"We missed you so much, man. You'll never know."

I shrugged, and returned the hug. "Thank you," I said as I pulled away. "You obviously didn't tell anyone."

"What hap-" Tuck started, and was then cut off by Mom.

"Tell anyone _what_, Tucker?" she said in her most intimidating voice.

"Erm . . ."

"I asked not to tell anyone where I was . . . Or, where I thought I would be, I guess. _Look_, can we just wait till Sam gets here? Then I'll tell you all everything."

Mom nodded, eyes narrowed slightly at Tucker. But I could tell she was too happy to really be seriously mad. Jazz hugged me again.

"We really did think we'd never see you again," she whispered.

I was ripped from Jazz's arms when I was tackled once again, this time by Sam. If I thought my sister had held on tight . . .

"_Danny_! I didn't think . . . Oh my gosh . . . Danny . . ." She started sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder, then sat up and slapped me across the face. Hard.

I rubbed my face. "What was _that _for?" I asked.

"You just . . ." With that, she started sobbing again. I started to sit up, and she got off of me, wiping her eyes.

"I'm . . . sorry," she said. "I don't know . . ."

I grinned. "Don't worry, Sam. Everything will be all right."

She inhaled deeply, the breathed out in a long sigh, calming down. She hiccoughed once, then leaned back and stood up. I, for the umpteenth time that day, did the same. "Are you going to tell us where the heck you've been or not?"

"Yeah," Tucker shoved in. My parents and Jazz smiled supportively. I looked at them, my friends, my family, the people I loved more than anything.

"Of course. But you're going to want to sit down. It's a long story."


	20. Anecdote

_A/N: Hahahahaha. Ha. Three days ago I took my last final - Spanish - and now I am done. It was through sheer force of will that I did not just simply go into a coma._

_On another note, why does doc manager always cut off a hundred in the word count?_

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Nineteen**

After everyone had settled in, I sat on the coffee table, facing those assembled on the Fenton family couch. "Well . . ." I said, not sure of how to start. "I guess I should start with the news report." Everyone looked at me expectantly. "I was walking home from, erm, a ghost fight, limping, really, and I happened to pass Elmer's. They had a couple of television sets in the window at the time. Maybe they still do. I don't know." I realized I had started to babble, but I was reasonably nervous.

"I heard 'Danny Phantom' mentioned so I went over to look. It was only six o'clock, so I didn't think it would matter. That was when Tiffany Snow announced to the world the existence of _me_. It was a special news bulletin and everything. I was horrified, and started running towards home because I wanted to explain, you know? You always watch the six o'clock news."

"Danny . . ." Mom interrupted, almost hesitantly. "Do you know how she found out?"

"Um . . . not really. I guess someone caught my transformation on tape. I don't know why it matters, what's done is done."

Mom gave me a look, then settled back in, leaning on Dad.

"Anyway, the GIW found me before I could get home. I was fighting them off . . . and losing . . . when Tucker showed up." Tucker was grinning sheepishly, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Don't worry about it," I said to them. "I made him _swear _not to tell you . . . I wasn't . . . functioning properly. I was kind of messed up in the head. I think seeing that might've messed him up a bit too, a little. The Guys in White were after me, my secret was out, and it had all happened so fast. But Tucker showed up, and tried to help. He ended up getting hurt just before they finally managed to get me. They shoved me in some van and drove off."

"You did come to school with a cut on your head the next day," Sam remembered, turning to Tucker, then paused. The air was heavy with our collective anticipation, and I was waiting for someone to ask the question.

Finally, Jazz spoke up. "D-Danny . . . Is that where you've been? With the Guys in White?"

"Son . . ." Dad started.

I held up my hand to stop him. "No, not really. They dropped me off at some nuthouse called Mt. Ivory. That's where I've been for the past three months."

"And fifteen days," Sam cut in, and I raised an eyebrow. She flushed. "I was worried." Then she abruptly changed the subject, blush fading. "What did they do to you there?"

Everyone nodded encouragingly.

"Um, well, it was kind of a holding center. With certain, erm, perks. I had therapy with this strange, _strange _woman - Jane Redd - every day for awhile, and occasionally Dr. Jared, this guy who worked there, would want to do some tests, and . . ."

"What are you trying to say, sweetie?" Mom said gently, and I realized I was babbling again.

". . . Well, there were the speciestests, I guess I should call them. To find out if you're _human _or not." I winced slightly at the memory, then inhaled, preparing to start talking again.

"You know we don't care about that," Dad said.

"Let me finish, Dad," I said. "Well, I took the test at first, and it came up positive - meaning I wasn't. Human, I mean. So they said I belonged to the government, like, you know, they _owned _me." Sam and Jazz gasped in unison, and I could practically hear Jazz's must-support-Danny psychology-pep-talk-creation gears whirring. But neither interrupted me. Mom, Dad, and Tucker just kind of stared at me. "So there were the buyers - most just rich guys or couples or whatever who came to, erm, well, buy."

"That's just _wrong_," Tucker muttered. "How'd you put up with that?" I shrugged.

"I dunno. Then Plas . . . Vlad showed up. He was looking for me."

Dad beamed. "Trying to get you back, I bet," he said proudly. "Gotta love Vladdie."

I opened my mouth silently, not quite sure how to break the news that his long-time best friend was actually there for the same reason all those other billionaires were to him. "Yeah, I think I'll tell you guys about Vlad later. I managed to get out of being seen with him, and then my skin started glowing, and Dr. Jared got really excited, or maybe that happened before Vlad showed up. I don't know. But the point is something freaking _weird _was happening to me. So then I got called on to advertise . . . And I remembered everything . . . Well, the point is, after that I got put in solitary confinement, and then Ms. Redd figured out that I was human before they used me to make a weapon and then killed me . . . Yeah." I could've told the story more eloquently, I'll admit.

They stared at me for a long time, and I wriggled around a bit. "I won't stand for this," Mom said eventually. "I'm going to put in some sort of complaint. How can a place like that _exist_? Buying and selling people . . . How un-American can you get?"

I shrugged. "They said it was to protect normal people. But then they had to send me back the moment they found out I was human. So I don't know. But you're right - it shouldn't."

"Man, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I should have . . . But I kind of thought you were dead or something. And I thought it was better if they just thought you'd run away, and hadn't died hooked up in a test tube or something."

I nodded. It was fine. It wouldn't have done much of anything if he had; so far as I knew, the GIW worked in a separate facility.

"How could they do that to you?" Sam asked. "You've only ever tried to help people -"

I sighed. "Guys, look. I'm glad for your sympathy, but I wasn't exactly horribly mistreated. All right, they gave me a prisoner tattoo, which is kind of creepy, and made me feel worse than Spectra ever did . . . But you know, I'm back now. And -" I looked a them all very pointedly. "- I have a job to do. I have to go relieve Val - the Huntress of her duties. I don't think the ghosts will be too happy to see me back in action."

"Come and talk to me when you're done, little brother," Jazz said, and got up, hugging me again. I hugged her back. She went up to her room.

Mom and Dad came up and hugged me next. "Surely they didn't just let you back to . . . you know, just be perfectly free?" Mom asked, and Dad nodded in agreement. "They didn't give you any rules?"

"There were some. I'll tell you them when I get back."

Both parents then pulled themselves up to full height. "If the GIW ever drag you home again, young man, you _will _be grounded," Dad said.

"Don't worry 'bout that. I break the rules, I'm going right back. So I'll be a good little ghost boy and not endanger any civilians." I smiled. "Thank you guys for understanding.

Mom kneeled down in front of me. "I'm not sure I do, hon," she said. "But we love you, just remember that."

"No matter if you're ghost, boy, or something in between," Dad finished. I blinked.

"Serious déjà vu," I mumbled, then looked back up at them. "Thanks again."

They nodded, and moved off so Sam and Tucker could say whatever it was they wanted to say.

"Sorry," Tucker repeated, and I shrugged reassuringly.

"It's fine, Tuck. And I asked you not to, so it's kind of my fault."

"I still can't believe you did that," Sam scolded, and I glared at her.

"Don't blame 'im," I said lightly. "He's an innocent and knows not what he does."

Tucker punched me gently on the shoulder, and I grinned.

Sam, then, pulled me back into a hug, and whispered in my ear. "If you _ever _disappear again, you'll get more than a slapped face."

I laughed, and she pulled back. "I promise I won't disappear again."

"Good luck, dude," Tucker said. "I think you're gonna need it."

"No kidding. See you in . . . well, awhile." They backed up slightly, and I glanced at my parents warily. "I'm goin' ghost!" I half-shouted. A familiar surge of power and a familiar flash of light later, and I was in ghost form. Mom and Dad gaped, slightly, but nodded encouragingly. I glanced up.

"Enjoy your day off," I called as I ascended, becoming intangible just before I hit the ceiling.

Well . . . It was time to fight some ghosts.


	21. Disclosure

_A/N: The second-to-last chapter. Wow. I hardly thought I'd get this far. For something that was originally going to be a small side project for me to work on for the sake of winding down . . . it's kind of taken over my thoughts. Dunno what that's done for the quality, but hey. __Enjoy, m'migos, I know I did._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters or plots associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Chapter Twenty**

How long, you might be wondering, did it take me to find a ghost to pummel the heck out of? Mm . . . counting the time it took for me to react to my ghost sense . . . fifteen seconds.

"Get back here, ghost!" I recognized Valerie's voice instantly as she flew past me.

"Not doing," was the reply. I raised an eyebrow, and jetted to join them. Both the ghost - who looked as if he'd stepped straight out of all those movies about lower-class New York - and Valerie took aim, staring at each other for several seconds.

I sighed, charged a blast in my hand, and knocked the ghost out of the sky before Valerie pulled the trigger.

"You know, I've tried the whole dramatic pause bit, it doesn't usually end well," I said, and Val turned around rapidly.

"D-Danny?" she asked slowly.

"Present. What, you miss me?"

"Erm . . ." She had tensed up, and seemed to be unsure. Finally, she relaxed. "Yeah. 'S'not easy, this twenty-four hour ghost hunting."

I shrugged. "You're telling me. Hey, spooky seems to be waking up." It was true, the ghost was starting to come back out of unconsciousness. "And I left my thermos at home, so . . ."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Valerie said, pulling her own containment device from its position on her back, and sucking the ghost in. Then she turned back to me.

"Why'd you come back?" she asked. "You obviously didn't want to be seen around here."

"Well, given that I was kind of taken from here against my will . . . coming back was my favorite option."

"Oh." She was at a loss for what to say. Obviously she had been building up to some kind of angry remark.

"Yeah, 'oh.' The government sort of sucks." That hung in the air for awhile.

"I can see why you didn't tell me," Valerie said at last. "I've been thinking about that a lot."

I smirked. "Yeah, so've I. Hey, you go home and get some sleep. Although, I have to say, I'm disappointed. You couldn't hold down the fort for a measly four months?"

She huffed. "Don't have all the zany superpowers you do, Danny."

"Didn't stop you from trying."

If I could see her face, I'm sure she would've smiled.

"No," she said. "I think I'll take you up on your offer. Think you can handle it alone?"

"Done it before, I'll do it again. Now go home. Although . . . can I borrow your thermos? I sort of flew off dramatically from my parents' house, and I don't want to, erm, ruin the moment."

She laughed. "Sure." She threw it to me. "Don't overwork yourself."

She flew into an alleyway, and it wasn't long before she - in her normal garb - appeared again, obviously headed back to her house for some sleep. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Step one - purge Amity of all ghost invaders.

Step two - purge all surrounding towns of the same.

Step three - come back and make sure no more had come to Amity Park.

Step four - collapse into bed, dead on my feet (ignore the pun, please, for the love of Pete, ignore the pun).

- - -

Step four didn't come as quickly as I might've liked. Well, first there was the two days of non-stop ghost fighting, then there was the matter of emptying Valerie's thermos, grabbing several more of my own, and going back to just fight _more _ghosts. They'd had a heyday without me, obviously.

And then there was the matter of coming home at six o'clock in the evening, every ghost I could find packaged in one of four different Fenton Thermoses, and one Masters Soup Cup, and discovering my parents waiting patiently for me . . . Toby sitting next to them, sipping what looked like tea.

"You have very hospitable parents, Danny," Toby said conversationally as I entered, ignoring the fact that I was on the verge of simply falling asleep where I was.

"Um, Danny, he said he knew you and -" Dad started to explain.

"Of course I went invisible right in front of them!" Toby said cheerily. "Funny, no? Did you know your parents are ghost hunters?" Then, without even a pause, "Hey, look, I know you're kind of sleepy, man, but do you think I can talk to you for a minute?"

Seeing as it was possible he'd _escaped _or something, I found this to be relatively urgent, so I dropped the thermoses on the coffee table, and walked up to my bedroom with him.

"Whaddaya want?"

"To explain, o' course. You know, I read the news today -"

"Oh boy," I said dully, finishing his sentence. "Don't go off with the Beatles stuff right now, Toby."

He smirked. "You're getting good at predicting that!" he commented. "Anyway, I read the news and there've been a whole lotta Phantom sightings 'cross town. Made your comeback, then? I guess that means that the paparazzi will be knocking down you door this time tomorrow."

"Yeah," I said, sagging even more just at the thought of that. Something I hadn't quite considered was the _media_. Dang, I hated the media.

"Well that's good for you. Anyway, because I don't want you to do anything stupid, amigo -"

"How did you get here?" I interrupted. "Did you escape?"

He flashed a toothy grin. "Escape. Yeah, right. Why on God's green earth would I try to escape, amigo? Life's good. And I got trust. They sent me. Anyway -"

"They sent you?"

"Dur," he said, looking at me strangely. "You can't _escape _Mt. Ivory, Dan. I'm just here to tell you -"

"Why would they _send _you? What if you run away?"

"What part of 'it's impossible to escape' didn't you understand? Besides, they own me, I respect that, it's all good. I just wanted to explain a couple of things so that I could get back. And, if you _must _know, they created me, and all that. Test tube . . . um . . . teenager. Been fifteen for twenty years! I was supposed to be a Cold War spy. Then I turned out to be a bit of a failure -" He faded out of visibility right then, as if to prove his point. "- so they shoved in Mt. Ivory and I've been there ever since. Well, the war ended, but that's besides the point, so -"

"Dangit, Toby, don't spring this kind of thing on me. They made you? You work for them? Is that how you know all the stuff you know?"

Toby sighed, and starting talking much more slowly. "No. I am considered too far below them to be told highly sensitive information and all that crap. But I was born and raised to be a spy, so that's just what I do." At this point he faded back into visibility.

"But you can't control your invisibility!"

"Nn. I have other skills. Look, can I just tell you what I have to tell you and be done with it?"

I inhaled deeply. "Sorry. I'm just tired, and my brain's kind of fried. What is it?"

"You want to know why they let you out?"

I stared at him. Now it was my turn to speak slowly. "Because I'm human and it's the law, maybe?"

He burst out laughing. "Y-you honestly believed that bull? Damn. What, you think you can do what you do and still be human? Brother, it was all staged - not the part with Dr. Redd, but she was the one who kind of accidentally brought the plan together. The GIW screwed up big time. They're just covering their tracks, and you're the perfect person to do it."

"What?" I said dangerously. I was too tired to deal with this.

"They couldn't protect this town. The diseases in your blood did disappear, the stuff they were going to use to solve the ghost problem once and for all. So they used the whole 'you're human' bit as backup. It was a _beautiful _lie, something you might be able to appreciate. So, yeah, the Guys in White need you here so that they don't look like asses!"

I opened my mouth, and then closed it. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming in frustration. "So you're telling me they sent _you _to tell me this after I spent two days ghost hunting -"

"Would a normal human still be awake - hell, alive - after all that?" he asked. I glared at him.

"Don't rub it in. So they sent you after all that just to tell me that they're using me."

He smiled. "Naw, they sent me to tell you a couple things Dr. Redd 'forgot' to mention. The whole voting thing, for you? Not so much. And, um, school, and, actually, free speech. Ignore the whole damn Bill of Rights. It's not for you. America's not all it's cracked up to be."

I did my fish bit again, before inhaling deeply. "So they sent you here to tell me that not only am I not human, but I have no rights to speak of?"

"Well, you can't be discriminated against because of race, class, creed, or religion . . . But species, hey, that's still open. Come to think of it, I don't think that was in there . . ."

I sighed, rubbing my temples, and eased onto my bed. "Get out of here, Toby. Just get the heck out of here. And don't come back."

"Will do!" he said brightly, and he bounded back up the stairs. I forced myself to go to sleep before I could think about the implications of what he'd told me. I just couldn't win, could I?


	22. Epilogue: Exposé

_A/N: Here it is. The bittersweet finale. I do hope you enjoy it._

Disclaimer: I do not own _Danny Phantom _or any characters or plots associated with it, nor am I making any money off of this.

**Epilogue**

I drifted lazily over Casper High, nostalgia taking me over as I watched the kids run out into the chilly March air, which wasn't affecting _me _in the slightest. Two of them - Sam and Tucker - looked up at me, and waved. I waved back.

_It's been awhile_, I thought. It had been close to two years since I'd stepped foot inside that school.

"Danny - get over here. Skulker, behind Bucky's." I sighed as Valerie's voice came through the Fenton Phones we used to communicate.

"On it." I paused as I began to change my direction. "You ever miss it?" I asked, pushing the mouthpiece closer to my mouth.

"Miss what?"

"School." Valerie had dropped out as soon as she could. Her father hadn't been happy about it, but she had told him the people needed her. Heck, I needed her. She was brilliant.

"Naw," she said. "But then, I could go back if I wanted to."

I laughed, happy to know she understood what I was talking about.

Bucky's Music Megastore, now in plain sight, loomed over me, and I increased my speed somewhat as I got closer.

"Gerroff!" Valerie yelled, and I winced as the sound was transmitted through the Phones. I rounded the corner, and saw Val fighting, hand to hand, with Skulker. I switched off the intercom, and blasted Skulker in the back. He faltered, slightly, but quickly turned around to face me. A set of un-launched missiles popped out from a plate in his arm, and I yawned.

"Skulky, get some new tricks. I brought the thermos today." Valerie smiled behind Skulker, and pulled out her own.

"I don't see it on your person, ghost - ack!" Val uncapped hers, hit the button, and sucked Skulker in.

"Smooth," she complimented.

"I've been working on my lying skills," I said, shrugging. "Didn't want them to fall to pieces due to lack of use." I flew closer to the ground, and transformed. She deactivated the suit (now missing the mask).

"Told Sam and Tuck we'd meet 'em at Elmer's for ice cream," I said, "if no ghosts attacked."

"Fine by me." We began the short walk to the pharmacy in silence. "Why do you just take it?" Valerie asked after a beat. She covered her mouth instantly afterwards, a sheepish look crossing her face.

I laughed reassuringly. "It's not a problem. If you want to know, it's just 'cause I don't exactly have the right of free speech, and I don't want my parents to get into trouble. Human rights only apply to humans, after all, and I think I can live with it so long as they let me live at home and fight ghosts." Lies, all lies. I could hardly _stand _it, but if I tried to do anything, they'd just ship me back off. The people of Amity Park deserved to be protected . . . and their protector was under 24/7 surveillance.

Val nodded reluctantly. "Sorry. I've just wanted to know that for awhile, now. I didn't mean to -"

"Val, be quiet. It's fine, really," We stepped inside Bucky's, and Val waved absently at Starr, who was working behind the cosmetics counter.

As soon as we entered the café area, Sam and Tucker gestured towards themselves to show us where they were, and we went on over.

"Hey," Sam greeted, licking her tofu cone. "You flew off pretty fast earlier. Ghost fight?"

"Ghost fight," Valerie and I confirmed in unison.

"It's been quiet recently," Tucker commented, wriggling a bit further around the booth so that Val and I could slide in.

"Yeah. But then, we've been on patrol more often, too."

"Mm," Sam agreed, focused on the environmental report playing on the TV a couple of feet away from our table. I shoved her playfully in the arm.

"What, am I so boring that 'Today's Environment With Allen Carnage' has managed to capture your attention?" She was about to hit me back when she straight dropped her tofu cone. Tucker's attention was drawn, too, so I didn't quite think the object of their interest was the rising levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.

I turned around slowly, now actually listening to the TV. Valerie did, too.

". . . government official Benedicta Garner, for years known as simply another homeland security advisor, has leaked - accidentally, she claims - the existence of a facility where . . ."

"Holy crap," Tucker said, his eyes widening at a steady pace. "That's where you were, wasn't it?"

I nodded, numb. _They can't, you know, blame this on me, can they? _I wondered silently.

". . . Mrs. Garner, a mother of one, apparently had her daughter kept there, for what she called 'the presence of hydrokinetic powers.' Yes, you heard me right. Action News has now confirmed the existence of . . . ahem, 'super humans.' That's right, Daniel Fenton wasn't the _only _one, as much as we'd like to believe it. It has been rumored that was where the teenager disappeared to for three months two years ago, but nothing has been confirmed . . ."

"I-is this a good thing?" Valerie asked.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. Sure, they were being revealed, but would people actually be revolted by the idea of the place? I knew _I _was, but I'm not exactly unbiased, and neither are my friends and family. Actually, it's amazing the amount of bias being a freak can bestow upon a person. I sighed deeply, and my three best friends looked at me, somehow understanding my intentions. It was time to stand up for myself, civil rights or no civil rights. I formed a shaky plan in my mind and prayed it would work out for the best.

All right, so I was a bit late on the draw. Cut me some slack.

I locked my eyes on the television screen, and prepared to teleport. Nifty little superpower I'd picked up somewhere along the way.

". . . claims have come in that the facility was used to house only _dangerous _people -" I heard the second part of that live. Really, really live. I calmed my nerves as quickly as I could.

Snow blinked, turning her swivel chair around halfway to greet me. I sat in her interview chair, head tilted to one side.

"M-Mr. Fenton, how, erm, lovely it is for you to join us," she said, clearly slightly freaked out.

"You certainly do get to report a lot of groundbreaking stories, Tiffany," I said jovially, but any fool could detect the bitterness behind the statement. "But one thing leads to another, and, well, here we are. You want more facts?" So I got slightly more eloquent in two years. These things happen.

"We are interrupting Mr. Carnage's show, Danny, so . . ."

"Story of the century," I coaxed. She sighed, and then, as if suddenly realizing she was still on air, put on her best this-situation-is-serious-and-I-really-do-care look. "Can you confirm the rumors that you spent three months at the Mt. Ivory Federal Holding Facility?"

"I can, in fact." If she had had a live audience, I'm sure there would've been a collective (staged) gasp. Snow did an excellent job of keeping a straight face. Toby had been right, two years previous. I could, in fact, appreciate a good lie.

"And what was your experience like there?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I was told I wasn't human, that my existence was a pain in the side of the universe, exposed to chemicals to make me forget my past, and, um, subjected to a game of psychological cat-and-mouse. The physical side of things . . . we were treated like guests in some ritzy hotel. Fewer complaints that way, they said."

Tiffany nodded, as if she could _possibly _understand. "How did you get back?"

"They let me out because, well, you remember. Amity Park and most surrounding cities were in shambles. They needed me to restore order. In the process they stripped me of all my civil rights. Oh!" I turned to her, being sure to keep a smile on my face. "Does it bother you that I'm breaking the law right now?"

Snow glanced at her director, who nodded at her vigorously, flashing her a thumbs up sign.

"No, not at all. If our hero has been deprived of what he potentially deserves more than anyone else -"

"I think we're forgetting the others. The ones still _in _Mt. Ivory. Which, actually," I said, glancing down at the watch my parents had bought me for my fifteenth birthday, "should be me within a matter of minutes. I'm under constant watch, you know." I heard the recognizable footsteps of a dozen GIW troopers coming closer. "Tell Mrs. Garner thank you for me, if you snag an interview. I only ever spoke to her once, but if she's managed to leak a secret like this, I commend her." I breathed in deeply, and wondered if I'd gone straight off the deep end. Whatever had possessed me to do that had left, and I did my best to keep up my bizarre charade as the Guys in White burst onto the set.

"Daniel Fenton, you are under arrest." I smiled brightly even as they pulled me off. Snow watched in horror. I'm sure the rest of the world was doing the same.

Everyone knew the GIW were idiots. Arresting me live on television when I'd just gotten through telling about the goons they apparently worked for was more than stupid, it was hysterical.

It was all I could do to hope that my little interview - reckless as it was - would spark something. And that Valerie could keep off the ghosts without me.

_I just wish I hadn't waited so long_, were my thoughts as, two hours later, the gun was fired.

Shame I wouldn't live to see the liberation movement.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all of my reviewers (and sorry if I misspell any names):

Nixed Freedom, "Anonimous," Secret Spy Guy, HiddenAuthor, Sasia93, phantomshadowdragon, Alias Apparition, Dpbuckeye, Kraven the Hunter, deanine, mzullos5, December's Morose, DannyPhantom-14, Sunshine Silverjojo, Yami-chan and Unrealistic, Nonasuki-chan, Funkatron, AirGirl Phantom, "dfd," cordria, katiesparks, dizappearingirl, Flashx11, "Quacked Lurker," StarsOfTwilight, Tessa Kitsune, Cracked Moon, Chaos Dragon, "K Web," FreakLevel27, "Linda," "April B," Plushiemon, FantomoDrako, Grumbles, The Midnight Phantomess, Mystitat, "NARIMARAKU," ShadowLord9, FernClaw, purrbaby101, pearl84, magpie8spook, danna-chan, Fan-Fic-CC27, Bluemoonalto, Rebecca The Animorph, mushroomcloudslooklikebroccoli, Halfa-NariMaraku, Phantom Marbles, Twisted Creampuff, RhiannonGrey, Nubecula, UlrichxYumi DannyxSam 4ever, Gadget14, silvermoonphantom, Phantom figure, truephan, playing13dead, Elemental-Zer0, MirthfulJoltofAdventure, FunkyFish1991, "ben," Writer's-BlockDP, Hallbringer of destruction, Tevagirl 16, Devianta, Shaveza, angel-phantom-babii.

_All sixty-nine of you! Dear me . . . Sixty-nine? Really? Wow. I hardly deserve it, but thanks. I'm glad the strong majority of you enjoyed this story so much, and I hope to see all of your names in my inbox the next time I try to write one of these things. Heh. And the stats . . . this story is on the favorites lists of fifty people, and the alerts list of seventy-three. Again, _wow_. Thank you all so very, very, much._


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